29/09/2012 - Saturday

Beck

12:34

"This book is amazing!" She exclaims, before the door is all the way opened. "I don't understand how I survived all these years without reading it!" She walks inside, and I close the door to my RV. I turn around and she's on the couch, legs crossed and a sparkle in her eyes. She's holding the book between her hands.

"I'm glad you liked it." I say, and she raises her eyebrows.

"Liked it? I loved it!" She opens it, and looks down at the pages. "After I finished it I just sat in my bed, and cried for hours. How can a book do that to you?"

I sit down beside her. "It's crazy isn't it? How attached you get to Charlie?"

'Charlie' is the main character, and the book is a series of letters he sends to a friend. When you read it, it's like you're his friend. And every single time the book ends, it feels as if you had lost someone in your life. Someone important, who means a lot to you. After the first time I read it, I couldn't sleep afterwards, I just felt sad. Sad because his story – as far as I knew it – was over. It is even hard to imagine what it would be if he was a real person, sending me real letters. To simply be cut off from someone so important to you, I can't even grasp how awful that must be.

"I know." She closes the book, but remains looking at it. "It's just a book." She chuckles.

"You can keep it for a while, if you want." She meets my gaze.

"Thank you! I promise I'll give it back to you in a few days, I just…" She let out a sigh. "I want to read it again."

"It's okay." I open a friendly smile.

She kisses me, and I correspond. I feel her back away, and watch her put down the book before coming towards me. I place my arms around her and pull her closer. Her hands travel up and she grips my shirt, pulling herself up and to my lap.

Someone's knocking at the door. Damn.

I get back up. "It must be the food."

"What did you order?" I grab my wallet from the counter.

"Italian." The guy hands me the packages, and when as I turn to place the on the counter she's right behind me. She takes the food, and I finish paying.

"This smells really good." She opens the packages, and I grab a couple of plates. "How much did it cost, I'll pay for my half."

I nod. "There's no need." I sit down on one of the stools, and she does the same.

"I already took your book, I don't need to take your money." She starts serving herself the pesto pasta – which I only ordered because I couldn't remember if she was a vegetarian.

"My roof, my money." She rolls her eyes playfully.

"You have a roof complex."

13:50

Tori

He finishes packing up the leftovers and putting them on the fridge, as I finish cleaning the plates. He didn't ask me to do it, but since he paid for the food the least I could do was clean up.

"You wake up at six every day?" He asks, clearly confused. "Why?"

"I don't know, I just do." I shrug. "It's not by choice, believe me."

He shuts the fridge, and leans against it. "What if you only go to sleep at five?"

"Then I just don't bother sleeping at all." He frowns, and I chuckle.

"That's really strange." I nod my head.

"At least I don't have a roof complex."

He smiles. "I don't have a roof complex!"

I reach my hand out to him, and he takes it. "Yes, you do." I insist, and he pulls me towards him. I take his free hand, and look down. I know where this is going. The same place it did yesterday, except we're not in Andre's bathroom. We're in his place, under his roof, and there is no reason for us to stop this time.

"Okay…" I say, freeing my hands and taking a step back. "I feel like I should tell you this."

He runs his fingers through his hair and takes a step away from the fridge. "Shoot."

"It's stupid." I tell him, because it is. It's stupid that I have to have this conversation. "I like you."

He smiles. "I like you too."

"Good." I could stop now, and it would be fine. No need for an awkward conversation.

"Was that it?" He has a cute confused expression. We could be making out right now, but no, I have to have this talk. I hate this.

"Not exactly." I stay silent, just looking at him. Maybe it's too early for us to have this talk. He comes closer to me, and I almost vibrate.

Yeah, we have to have this talk.

He motions as if he was about to speak, and I don't know what he's about to say since I don't want to get de-railed. So I cut him off.

"I'm uh…" I cross my arms. "I'm still a virgin."

He looks surprised, I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing. "Really?"

"I know, it sucks." I say, still trying to understand what that face he's making means. "This totally turned you off, didn't it?" I nod my head, I should have seen this coming.

"No!" He says. "I'm just… Very surprised."

"You are?"

"Well, yeah." He crosses his arms and shrugs, I think it's the first time I've seen him act somewhat awkwardly. "When we, hm, do…stuff? You seem very…"

I smile, I guess that's a compliment. "Thanks." I relax my arms, and tilt my head looking at him. "You're not, right?"

"No." He's examining me now, which is strange because I'm the one with unpleasant news. "Is that a problem, for you?"

I fold my lips not to laugh, because he's seems to be just as worried as I was. "No! No, one virgin is way more than enough."

He smiles. "Good." I walk closer to him, and he takes my hands. He gives me a quick kiss. And another thought comes to mind.

"Should we get tested?" I frown, and he does too. "I don't, I think, but maybe you should?"

He looks down at me, and nods. "Okay, I'll get tested."

I stand on my tiptoes, and reach for his lips. He lays his hands on either sides of my hips, and kisses me back. He's soft and gentle, too gentle. "Beck." I say, slightly pulling away and looking up at his eyes.

"What?" His voice is low which is sexy. What's not sexy is that I can tell he's restraining himself. He didn't do that before.

"I'm a virgin, not a porcelain doll."

"What does that mean?" I glare at him.

"It means that you're being… Soft. For no reason."

He squints his eyes. "I'm not being soft."

I glance down as to point at his hands, than back up at him. "You'r-"

His hands slide down and he pulls my hips pressing me against him. He kisses me, hands travelling down my tights, and to my back. He kisses me again. Better, much better. He's down my neck, and I pull his hair. He bends his knees, and picks me up. Before I know it I'm against the wall, legs wrapped around his torso. I breathe out, flushed.

"Who's soft now?" He asks, with a grin.

19:22

He pulls over in front of my house, and I sit still. "I would invite you in, but..."

He looks at me, and doesn't look mad or hurt. That's good. I don't want to make him feel like I don't want him in my house. "I know, it's fine."

"It's just that my parents are a lot of work, and…" He nods, and takes my hand. "You can come after classes, they're hardly ever home."

I look down at our hands. I think he likes me, like really likes me. Not just for sex, which would be pointless since we're not having any – yet - and not for a grade since we barely talk about that project. I think he just genuinely likes me. Why?

"Tori." I look up, he looks concerned. Oh no. "What's going on?"

I smile, nervous. "Nothing, I'm fine." He tilts his head. "I'm fine!"

"You were fine, and then you're parents called you."

I take a deep breath, and close my eyes for a second. "Just kiss me goodbye."

He leans in, but doesn't come all the way. "You can always come back to my place."

I smile, and we kiss. "We'll talk later." I say, hopping off the car. I shut the door, and look back inside. He rolls down the window of the car, and I shut my hands into fists. I feel my nails digging into my palls. "Beck, I like you. Really like you."

"Good, because I really like you too."

I relax my hands, and turn back around. I hear him drive off, as I stand in front of my door. I get my keys, and walk in. My parents are sitting down at the couch, my Mother's on her phone, and my Dad has headphones on. And people complain about my generation. I walk straight to the kitchen, I don't think they noticed I'm home.

"Tori!" My mother exclaims. What now?

"Yes?" I turn around with my water, waiting as she comes my way.

"Where were you this afternoon?" I'm not going to tell her about Beck. "Andre's?"

For once her lack of interest affects me in a positive way. "Yes, Yes I was."

"Well, your father didn't cook dinner so I had to order pizza again."

I nod. "Alright."

"No, no." She opens a condescending smile, and I know it's coming. "You can't have the pizza, after all you want to be an actress or Broadway-something, aren't you?"

"Um…" I can get away, I can doge her and go upstairs and this will all be over.

"How do you expect to get the leading lady roll if you're fat? And no daughter of mine will be labeled "the best friend" or worst, an understudy."

"But Trina never-"

"Well honey Trina has her one-woman monologue every single weekend, it's been on for weeks! She has booked commercials, and novelas! She knows how to eat, and behave."

My parents pay for the theater rent every weekend, so that my beloved sister can perform. She has booked a single commercial, and that was when she was still in high school. And these novelas that my Mother loves to talk about are true, but she doesn't act on any of them. She worked as the assistant to one of the actors and got fired after a few weeks. My Mom doesn't know that because Trina told her you can only get the channel in Mexico. Everything that she does she fails or makes up, and my Mother insists on shoving them on my face.

I don't know why this comes as a surprise, this routine happens more times than I want to admit. And I don't know why it stills affect me so much.

"Mom can I just…"

She nods her head in disapproval. I feel cold.

"You can't just go upstairs without eating anything!" I look down at my feet, my free hand closes up in a fist. I want to cry. I can't cry. I'm not going to give her that satisfaction.

"But you said I couldn't…" I stop because I feel as if I'm going to break. I dig my nails into my palm. Hard.

"Don't be childish! Just because you can't eat pizza it doesn't mean you have to starve yourself. Maybe that's why you look so pale, you're not getting any nutrients. You should eat more fruit."

I keep staring down, I don't want to look at her and take in these words even more than I am now. "Can I go?"

"You got no fight in you, do you?" I stay silent. I don't, not anymore. The doorbell rings, my savior. "Pizza!" She walks away, and I feel like she has taken my spirit with her.

"Tori!" My dad says, getting up from the couch. He's smiling, and it kills me that I can't give me a positive response back. "How was your day?"

"Fine." I say, walking away from the kitchen before she can get me again.

"Hey, aren't you going to eat with us?"

"No." I glance at him, and I see his smile fading away. It's my fault. He wanted me to be with him and be happy and have a normal father daughter relationship but I can't. I'm this black hole and all I do is suck people in. He would have been happier if I had just rushed upstairs before he could get me.

I finally do what my instinct tells me and I walk to my room. As I get to the second floor I hear the two of them arguing. My Dad screams the loudest but my Mother barely gives him time to do so. I hate it. I hate it so much that it hurts.

I walk inside my bedroom and shut the door, the sound is muffled and I cannot understand what they're saying about me. I walk to bed and realize I'm shivering, I don't know why this happens. Why it's always so cold.

I lie down and curl up in a ball, and the shivering only gets more intense. They're still yelling.

It's all my fault. If I had just stayed quiet my Mother wouldn't talk about the pizza, and my Dad would be mad at her. If I had walked straight upstairs they wouldn't have had any conflict and everything would be fine!

I sit back up, and realize the yelling has stopped. I walk back outside and peek downstairs, and see them. Their eating like nothing has happened. My heart sinks. It's already over for them. They have moved on.

I look at my Mother, who's smiling down at her phone. She's smiling.

I walk to my room with little energy in me. She was smiling. She was happy. How can she be happy knowing that I'm so miserable? Does she know I'm miserable?

It hurts. It hurts so much. I raise my hands to my face and press them against my eyes, my palms are wet. I don't want to cry, she doesn't deserve it. They don't deserve it. I hate it, I hate all of it. And I hate myself mostly for caring about her, and what she thinks of me.

I grab my pillow and press it against my face, and scream. I scream the loudest I can, and when I'm done it does nothing for me. I'm crying harder than before, and the shivering hasn't stopped. I reach for air, and it doesn't come. It feels like I'm dying. I wish I was dying.

I throw the pillow away. My eyes are half-open as I reach for the top drawer of my nightstand. I lift the pile of old magazines I haven't opened in years, and from underneath it I take an old pencil case. I zip it open and my heart beats even faster than before, my veins are begging for relief. I pick out a single blade amongst others I have yet to unscrew from their original purposes with urgency.

I stare down at my left wrist. My old cuts are almost completely healed, enough so that I don't have to hide them anymore. I don't want to use long sleeves for two weeks again. But not doing it is not going to work. I leave the blade on the bed for a few seconds as I push down my jeans as fast as I can. I grab it again.

Instant relief.

I do it again, and just one more.

I see my blood rising, and finally breathe.

I get up from my bed, and walk towards my bathroom. I leave the blade on the sink, and take a box of Band-Aids instead. I choose the skin-colored ones this time, they draw less attention. I sit down on the toilet, and perfectly apply one big one over the new ones. I stare at my thigh, which once had perfect skin, and think about all the scars that might not fade away.

I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have done it! Why do I keep doing this to myself? Why do I think this helps? Are thirty seconds of relief worth hours, days, of regret? No! It's not! It's never worth it! I don't understand why I keep trying, I don't understand, I…

I'm not going to do it anymore. This is the last of it. These were my last ones and this time, I'm serious. It's not worth it. I need to stop.

I walk back to my room, my vision is blurry and useless. I lie down in my bed, and close my eyes. I can't do it anymore. I can't, I can't, I can't. I open my eyes and wipe away my tears, and there they are, haunting me. The pencil case, the blades. I can't be here.

20:50

Beck

I'm in my bed, which is so far my favorite place in Los Angeles. Not my RV, but specifically my bed. It's so comfortable it doesn't even feel like a bed, if anything is proof that god exists, the bed is it. I guess it was a small price my parents paid for me to agree to move to Los Angeles with them. When I tell people I chose a bed over a new car they think I am crazy, but of course they never laid down in my bed.

Poundings on my door interrupt my trail of thoughts, and I sit up alarmed. I light up my phone to check the time. My parents are probably watching a movie, so they wouldn't be here at this hour. It can only be her.

I hop off my bed, and turn on the lights, leaving the TV on. I open the door, and there she is. "Hey."

She smiles, but that weird smile where you don't show your teeth. I take a step back and she walks in. "I'm sorry I didn't text before showing up." She says, as I lock the RV.

"Don't worry." I turn back at her, and watch as she takes off her shoes, and leaves her purse on the floor. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She sits down on my bed, and I follow. "I just needed to get out of my house."

I sit beside her, and take her hand. "What happened?"

I wait for her but she doesn't say anything. I glance down at our hands, not to contemplate but to see her wrist. I know she's right-handed, so I figure the natural course would be to use your good hand and hurt herself on the left one. Which is the one I'm looking down at. I feel myself at ease when I realize it's clear, no new Band-Aids or wounds. Maybe those that I saw were the last ones, or just a one time mistake.

She shakes her head, and suddenly she changes. Her dark and heavy disposition goes away. "What are you watching?"

It takes me a couple of seconds to catch up, as I turn to the TV. "I was just channel surfing when you got here."

"Alright." She pulls herself out of the edge, and to the opposite corner of my bed to find the remote. She stops at a news channel, and looks at me. I follow her, laying down by her side. I don't know what happened when she was home, but I think I understand why she didn't want me to come inside. "So, are you voting this year?"

I smile at her randomness. "What?"

"Are you registered to vote?" She insists, and I chuckle.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

She sits up, and I can tell whatever was on her mind is slipping away. "We weren't talking about anything, so I just initiated a conversation. I don't understand why you're so reluctant."

I sit up too. "I'm Canadian, not American."

"That's right!" She laughs. "That's why you're so strange."

"I'm not strange, you're the one who can't keep people's nationalities in order."

She raises one eyebrow, and it's incredibly sexy. "Well, at least I don't have a roof complex."

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! IT MEANS A LOT TO ME! THANK YOU!

- KIRIBATI