The Phantom dropped his laundry and skidded to Christine's side. She had clearly fallen from the couch, and though her head was turned slightly, she had indeed thrown up while lying on her back. He quickly grabbed her wrist, then checked for a pulse. Feeling one, he started patting her cheek.
"Oh god, oh god, how do they do this in movies again?"
He started chest compressions. Seeing that it was doing nothing, he panicked.
"CHRISTINE! CHRISTINE! DON'T DIE!"
He thought fast, then grabbed her by the heels and held her upside-down, shaking her violently.
"Oh god, please let this do something-"
She coughed. He draped her over the couch, then started patting her cheek again.
"Christine, are you okay?"
Her eyes were rolled back for a moment. Slowly, she focused on him.
"I . . . I threw up on your good carpet."
"That's okay, that's okay . . . Are you feeling any better now?"
She wiped her mouth, then shifted so that she was lying on the couch normally.
"I . . . I shimmered."
"I gathered."
". . . Several times in a row."
"Oh, fuck . . ."
"Don't cuss!"
He sighed.
"Why did you shimmer so much?"
"I . . . I saw something that upset me."
"What?"
"I don't remember."
He stared at her, mouth agape.
". . . You don't remember? Did it upset you so much that you forgot? Did the shimmers take your memory?"
"No . . . It's something else."
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"Yellow."
"The color?"
"No, the shape! Of course, the color!" she snapped.
He swallowed.
"My grandmother's a yellow dragon. Could that have been what you saw?"
"Why wouldn't I remember it? Dragons are pretty remarkable, I hear."
"Do you think it scared you so much that the memory got locked away?"
"Yes, right before the vapours hit me."
He swallowed.
"Listen, I know you're stressed, but the sarcasm isn't helping us figure this out."
He sat quietly for a moment.
"I have a theory."
"Yes?"
"My grandmother came looking for me, saw that you were here instead, and assumed that I'd moved. Then she erased your memory, thinking that you were a normal person."
"I'm not normal?"
"You know what I mean."
She sighed.
"Figures. My last hope for salvation, and she just happened to come while you were away. Maybe she'll never return, if she thinks-"
He stood up, grabbing his head.
"Fuck, fuck, f-"
"DON'T CUSS!"
He ran his fingers through his wig.
"I missed her. I missed her, and now she doesn't know where to find me!"
"Yeah, and I'm stuck shimmering."
She sighed.
"I must have shimmered a dozen times. Probably ran through tens of actresses, including understudies. I'm even closer to Marni-Christine. Unless I happened to skip her already."
"You didn't."
She snorted.
"Wow, do you have the order memorized already?"
"No."
"Then how do you know whether or not I've reached her yet?"
"Because you're her right now."
Her face went pale. She turned toward the television set, for there were limited reflective surfaces in the apartment, then clutched her face.
"NO!"
"Listen, I'm not gonna-"
She grabbed a pair of scissors from the coffee table, holding them out toward him.
"STAY BACK!"
He held up his hands.
"Jesus Christ! Calm down!"
"Don't tell me to calm down, and don't cuss!"
"Don't threaten me with scissors!"
She made a jab.
"Get back! Don't come near me until I shimmer again!"
He clenched his teeth.
"Well, you seem pretty stressed, so it shouldn't take long. In any case, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to hurt you."
"That's what you said last time."
"I- Well, I don't recall ever saying that . . ."
"You did. In my dressing room, when we first met."
"Right . . . Yeah, I vaguely remember that."
"It was a lie, all of it!"
He flinched as she made a swipe.
"I'm somewhat uncomfortable with you holding the scissors like that . . ."
"Too bad. I need to protect myself."
He scoffed.
"I'm not DOING anything!"
"How do I know you won't try something?"
"You were passed out a few minutes ago. If I wanted to try something-"
"The fact that you'd even THINK of that-"
"I'm not suggesting- Oh, you are impossible! Listen, I don't have time for this. I can't leave you alone anymore, but I refuse to be threatened in my own home. Put the scissors down."
"No!"
"I'm your only hope right now. Put the scissors down."
Her lip quivered. She dropped the scissors, then fell to her knees before crumpling on the floor. She wept into her hands. The Phantom gulped.
"I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be hard on you. I just don't like being threatened with scissors, that's all."
She didn't seem to hear him. He watched her for a moment, then retreated to the kitchen. He grabbed the scissors along the way. Opening a couple drawers, he got to work on something. He returned with a paper bag. He let it flutter to the floor in front of her. She looked up from her arms, eyes red. He spread his arms.
"There. Now I won't be able to see your face. There are eye holes, of course-"
"What about my body?"
He grabbed a cape from the coat rack, tossing it to her, then turned around.
"Let me know when you're ready."
A pause, then a bit of shuffling.
"I'm ready."
He turned, then burst out laughing.
"What?"
With the bulky cape and paper bag, she looked like the world's worst superhero. He snickered and wiped his nose.
"You look ridiculous."
She crossed her arms.
"Yes, wearing a mask and cape is very silly indeed."
He tightened his lips.
"Well, granted . . . But also . . ."
He pointed. She looked at her reflection in the television and noticed the curly moustache he'd drawn on the bag. She sighed, but waved her hand dismissively.
"Well, if it works, it works."
"Can I clarify that I don't think the bag is necessary, but I'm still entertaining it out of politeness?"
"You were always more enraptured with my voice anyway. Perhaps I should speak differently."
She put on a gruff voice.
"Thankfully, I'm very good at this."
"You're gonna damage your vocal cords."
"So?"
". . . It would just be a shame, is all."
After a pause, she huffed pointedly and sat down on the couch, arms crossed.
"You haven't changed one bit, you know that?"
". . . Really."
"You speak differently and act differently at times, but at your core, you're still choosing to be selfish, as always."
"Am not! In fact, I could have wrestled those scissors out of your hands in a heartbeat, but I chose not to, because it would upset you. I put your comfort first, so there!"
"I think you're just embarrassed that I got the drop on you."
He glared at her, walked over to the kitchen, then came back with the scissors, handing them to her with a flourish. She looked at him curiously, then lifted them to the same height as before. In less than a second, they shot across the room and became lodged in the wall. He smiled proudly.
"See? I'm quite fast."
He winced as Christine gave an agonized wail. She grabbed her head, crumpling the paper bag and tossing it aside.
"I can't do this! You're still lying and manipulating me constantly!"
"I . . . I just wanted you to feel safe."
"I am never going to feel safe with you."
She tore off the cape.
"I'm leaving!"
He held out his hands.
"Wait! Christine! I'm sorry!"
She stumbled back before she could reach the door. The Phantom cocked his head. Christine stood stunned for a moment.
"Is this another trick?!"
"What? No! What even happened?"
"Something hit me! I-"
A shimmer started. He grabbed her as she fell, then screamed when she bit his arm. Her teeth dug into him as she changed. He could feel her skull buzzing. Then, it was over, and she let go. He wheezed.
"GEEZ! YOU BROKE SKIN!"
She lay on the floor, exhausted. He held his throbbing arm as she stared up at him, eyelids uneven.
"At least I'm not Marni anymore."
He cradled his bleeding arm, examining the bite mark.
"Ow . . ."
"You deserved it."
"Maybe a little."
She sat up, rubbing her head.
"That shimmer felt different."
"Different how?"
"Like a dam bursting after a lot of pressure built up behind it."
"I don't know how, but that's probably my fault."
He sighed.
"I thought that things were improving between us."
She got to her feet shakily.
"Well, at the best of times-"
He reached for her as she stumbled, but she shooed him away.
"At the best of times, I enjoyed being around you. It was fun. But then there was the lying and the manipulation and the murder . . . I'll never understand why you had to go and do that. You ruined our friendship."
"We were friends?"
"Of course we were."
"Oh. I guess I never really thought of it that way."
"Because you wanted something more."
He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yes, I suppose so, though I didn't want to admit it at first. Even hoping for something-"
"Please stop talking."
"Understood."
He stared out the window, watching the traffic pass by, then turned back to Christine.
"I . . . I'm going to do everything in my power to find my grandmother."
"Why didn't you before?"
"We . . . We aren't exactly as close as I let on."
"I figured."
"It was my fault, of course. It always is. But I was afraid that I'd upset her if I tried to reach out. I thought I'd give her some time, and- Well, anyway, this is more important. I'm going to start writing letters to everyone I know . . . including my uncle, to whom I owe an apology."
He walked over to his room and grabbed a stack of papers, dropping them on his desk, then peeked through the door.
"Hey, would you be okay to meet my talking pegasus if he stops by? I want to know if these letters are . . . received well."
"Can he bring more cookies?"
"I doubt he's willing to share . . . but if you're dead set on it, I can perhaps ask him for information on where he gets them."
"Good. It'll make this whole ordeal more bearable."
The Phantom gulped.
"I . . . I was also thinking, if I'm sending letters to Fiction anyway, I can find someone to look after you. Probably not one of my former friends, but if you know someone-"
"It's alright. I don't expect this to take long."
"Are you sure you don't want me to ask?"
"Yes."
"But are you sure?"
"Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"No, but you seem very unhappy here."
She gave a strained smile.
"So make sure this goes quickly, and in the meantime, I'll be eating cookies and wiggle wafers."
"Okay . . ."
He started writing.
"I'm sure my friends won't be happy that I'm reaching out, only to ask for a favor."
"Maybe you shouldn't have treated them so badly."
"Yeah . . ."
He worked on his writing for the next hour or so, then tucked the papers in envelopes and started to lick them shut in the kitchen. Christine noticed and sat up.
"Can I do that?"
"What, lick envelopes?"
"Envelope glue is delicious."
". . . Okay."
He handed her the envelopes, which she licked greedily. She paused at one of them, reading the front.
"Hm. That's a pretty name."
"Which one? Blu? Simba?"
"Rainn. Is she your ex?"
"No, that's my uncle."
"Oh, I see."
"He's nonbinary, by the way. Gets real pissy if you call him a man."
"Naturally. You shouldn't be doing that."
"Yeah, I guess . . . Wait, how do you know-"
"I know a lot of things. One tends to learn a lot, being a shut-in for hundreds of years. I speak five languages now. Including English, which you have not yet remarked upon."
"Oh, yeah, I guess you're right. I didn't realize that we've been speaking English this whole time. You're very fluent, good job."
"How many languages do you speak?"
"Lots, but I didn't have to learn them. My grandmother put them in my head."
"You let her tamper with your mind?"
He snorted.
"It wasn't a matter of letting her. She just started doing it. And it was beneficial, so who cares?"
She stared at him for a moment. He gave a pointed frown.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's worse than I'm letting on. My grandmother is eccentric, that's all."
She leaned on the counter.
"You know, sometimes, I truly pity you."
"You shouldn't."
"I feel awful that your grandmother is able to get away with this, and that you don't seem to mind."
"Because it's not a big deal!"
"But she hurt you."
"Well, yes. No. Not really. I deserved every bit of it, and besides, she did more to help me. I mean, she put me in charge of everything."
"That sounds like a responsibility, not a gift."
"Well, I've always wanted power. So it was a good thing, actually."
"Why did you want power?"
"Because most of the time, I feel helpless."
She slid forward on the counter.
"Well . . . consider that perhaps you needed emotional support instead of a government position."
"Failing my duties was my own fault."
"But you never should have been-"
"We're getting off topic. What languages do you speak?"
"French, English, Spanish, Italian, ASL."
"Nice. Does that come in handy?"
"I don't go outside."
"Oh, right."
She smiled.
"But I like reading foreign books, sometimes. A lot of novels have nuance in their original languages that gets lost in translation. I'm sure I'd pick up on even more subtext if I had cultural context too. It's a bit sad, knowing that billions upon billions of experiences are lost to us, but then again, there's something beautiful in it. The life you live is totally unique to you. We've all been given this amazing gift, yet some choose to waste it."
"By staying indoors all the time, you mean."
She frowned.
"You're one to talk! And it's not like I have a choice! . . . But if your horse brings more cookies, perhaps I'll venture outside, just for a moment. This place seems less haphazard than Fiction."
"This universe or New York specifically? Because I saw someone piss directly into a water fountain the other day."
"Lovely."
She sat down on the couch once more, splayed across it as though she had come to claim it as her own, finally.
"Tell your horse to bring more cookies."
"Fine. But are you sure-"
"And don't question my decisions."
"Alright."
But he was in fact very worried about her. He knew that he had to respect her agency, but he was also aware that she had a remarkable propensity to make the worst possible decision at any given time.
Like trusting him, for example.
. . .
César knocked on the door with his annoying little horsey hooves. He had a bad habit of coming up with atrocious rhythms, which he apparently thought were a hoot. They were not. But Christine seemed amused. When he entered, she gasped.
"Wow, his wings are so big!"
"Thank you!"
"Oh! You talk!"
The Phantom huffed.
"Yes, but I already told you-"
"I assumed that he talked like a parrot, not like a person."
"Yes, but I said-"
"Oh, hush! I thought that you were lonely enough to project humanity onto him, but he actually was your roommate!"
César grinned.
"I like her. She's very observant."
The Phantom, who had been fuming, closed the door behind him, then turned to César.
"So. Does anyone know where my grandmother is?"
"They're very upset with you."
"That's not what I asked."
"But it answers your question. Either nobody knows, or some of them do and are unwilling to help."
"Great. Just great."
"But on the bright side, I brought your little lady-friend some cookies."
He tossed her a bag.
"These are on the house. Hit me up if you ever want more. I also carry horse tranquilizers."
"None of those, thanks."
The Phantom sighed.
"Well, I suppose I should order some food, since you're about to become a tornado. I'm going to be writing a lot of follow-up letters in the meantime."
"I wouldn't bother," said César, "Most of these people hate you, and besides, you'd be better off apologizing in person."
"I can't. I have to stay here with Christine."
"Take her with you."
"She doesn't like Fiction. Too much weirdness."
"Weirdness?"
"Talking animals and the like."
"But one talking animal is fine," Christine clarified, "Is it alright if I pet your snout?"
"Go right ahead."
She smiled, stroking his face. The Phantom crossed his arms.
"Well, you two seem to be getting along. Would it be okay if I left you alone and did some grocery shopping?"
"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Christine chittered, "We can eat cookies together and watch all of the motion pictures that I haven't seen yet!"
César grinned.
"You know, you're pretty sweet."
"Were you expecting otherwise?"
"Well, every time dingus over there mentioned you, he made it out to be this big, dramatic thing. But you're pretty chill."
Christine pointed.
"Ha! You hear that? I am 'chill'!"
The Phantom sighed and grabbed his keys and wallet.
"Okay, whatever. I'm heading out."
"See you later, dingus," César whinnied.
"Yeah, dingus." Christine echoed.
The Phantom slammed the door a little harder than he meant to.
. . .
When the Phantom returned, Christine and César were both sitting on the couch. The space around them was littered with carrot tops and candy wrappers. César pointed at the television.
"That's him! That's the guy I'm dating!"
The Phantom growled and made a dash for the remote.
"Absolutely the fuck not! No Jurassic Park under this roof!"
Christine smirked and grabbed the remote before he could reach it.
"This is Jurassic WORLD. So you can't do anything about it."
She fistbumped César. The Phantom fumed.
"Give me the remote."
She smiled, then deliberately turned up the volume.
"Stop it."
She turned it up more. The speaker was blaring. He glared at her, but she remained unfazed. He grabbed his head and marched to his room, slamming the door behind him. For a moment, he stood in place, then he snatched up a pillow and screamed into it. After a pause, he placed it back on the bed with shaking hands, then made his way to his desk. He reached for a piece of paper and a pen. He started writing, but punctured the paper when he heard his uncle's voice coming from the television set in the other room. He tossed the paper aside and grabbed his skull. His fingernails dug into his flesh, and as he sat there shaking, he realized that he was having an actual breakdown. He tried to focus on his breathing like his therapist told him, but found that it was making his eyes prickle. He didn't want to cry. Not now, and not about this. He couldn't live with being the kind of person who cried over something this small.
"Christine is really quite mean," he said to himself with a sniffle.
But even as he spoke these words, he knew that they weren't true. Everything she did to him was retribution, and even when she had an edge to her, she was remarkably even-tempered. No, this was not her fault.
Every once in a while, the Phantom had to remind himself that he was undeniably the "bad guy" in this scenario. Despite all his hurt, he was the perpetrator of many horrible acts, and nothing justified that. His life, paved with trauma, had brought him to this destination, and though each cobblestone in that path had guided the way, that didn't change where he was now. He wondered if he'd still be this rotten if he'd led a normal life, or if this was inherent to him as a person.
Once again, he heard his uncle's voice on the television set in the other room. A thought occurred.
Cringing, he reached into his dresser and fished out a piece of paper with a phone number on it. He wasn't sure why he'd bothered keeping it. Perhaps it was because there was a slim chance that his grandmother would return to her son, despite their conflict. Rainn seemed adamant that they stay apart, but Elkay was not one to listen to . . . anyone, really. The Phantom hoped that if she did return to Rainn, she'd do so out of vengeance, rather than a desire to reconcile. But with his luck, she'd probably pick Rainn as her new favourite. Well, if she was to love Rainn in the same way she'd loved the Phantom, he'd be in for a world of suffering.
Briefly, he realized that this wasn't normal, but-
Anyway, he was supposed to be making a phone call.
He dialed the number and held the phone to his ear. When the voice sounded on the other end, he cringed.
'Hello?'
". . . Hello."
'Oh! It's you! I didn't think you'd call! How've you been?'
"Nevermind that. Listen, everybody used to hate you, yeah?"
'. . . Yeah.'
"And you were a legitimately horrible person, right?"
'. . . Yes. Is there a point to this, or-'
"How'd you do it? How'd you get everyone to like you?"
'Well, I improved as a person. I made things right.'
"Yeah, but like, step by step. What did you do?"
'Let's see . . . um . . . Well, I started opening up to someone I respected very much, and she helped me make amends with those I'd hurt. We went on a quest to find a magical artifact, then we got back and there was this horrible death machine that Elkay built-'
"Yeah, no. Not doing all that."
'That was only Act One.'
"Still too much."
'Well . . . do you expect to improve without putting in any work? Cuz in my experience-'
"Just tell me how I can get people to like me."
There was a light chuckle.
'. . . You're in love with someone, aren't you?'
"NO!"
He shrunk a bit, then adjusted his volume.
"No, I'm not. At least, I'm not supposed to be."
'Been there. Can I give you some advice?'
"What."
'Love alone isn't enough to make you a better person. You gotta do what's right, even if you don't get what you want in the end.'
"I never get what I want."
'Eh, maybe so. But in any case, just be a good person, and everything will fall into place.'
"I'm plenty good, thanks."
'Well-'
"Listen, I don't need your advice. I already know that I'm going to die alone and unloved."
'Hey, now-'
"Don't you dare argue! I'm never going to be with the person I love, but hey, if by some miracle it happens, I'll come straight to you for advice on how to get my girlfriend killed."
A pause. The line went dead.
The Phantom hung up, then stared ahead blankly.
"Shit . . . I shouldn't have said that . . . Why did I say that? . . ."
He fell back on the bed with a funny feeling in his gut. He worried that he might throw up, or at least get to the point of that sour mouth-water that happened right before getting sick, if there was even a word for that. He could probably look it up on his phone. Or he could just invent a word. A word like sick-spit, maybe. Although it wasn't exactly spit. More like drool. Sick-drool. No, that didn't sound as good.
Why was his heart beating so fast?
After lying there for a while, he opened his eyes and realized that at some point, he had fallen asleep. He'd dreamed of gas stations, he remembered. Why did he always dream of gas stations when he didn't even grow up with them?
Anyway.
He sat up and looked out the window, then jumped when he saw how dark it was. The digital clock by his bed said four in the morning. Jesus Christ, leave it to Jurassic Park to wipe him out like this.
He waddled over to the door, yawning, because the television was still on. His roommate and guest had probably fallen asleep. But then he heard Christine whisper.
"César, you've known him for all this time. What's going on in his head?"
"Beats me."
"It's as though half of the time he really has changed, but then it's back to his old habits. Is he just lying to me again? Am I really that naïve?"
César sighed.
"I think he wants to be better, but he's bad at it. He pushes people away so that he doesn't have to deal with rejection, stuff like that."
She hummed.
"Not very emotionally mature."
"Nope. And I think on some level, he knows it, but he thinks that just recognizing his flaws makes him more insightful. Well, I'll believe that when he actually fixes them."
The Phantom swallowed, peeking through the door a smidge. César and Christine appeared as flickering shadows against the television set. Christine had shimmered a few times while he was asleep. She was Sierra, at the moment. She tilted her head.
"Do you think he's capable of change?"
César shrugged.
"Depends on if he actually tries. But he's a very proud man."
"He hates himself."
"And that's precisely why he's so proud. He has to fight to defend what little self worth he has . . . or pretends to have."
"I feel bad for him, sometimes . . . but then I remember. It's hard, feeling all these things about a person."
"I wouldn't put too much stake in it. I think I'm about ready to give up on him like everyone else."
The Phantom took a step back from the door. For a moment, the world seemed to implode around him. He had always told himself that he was beyond help, that all of his friends would leave him . . . but now, when it was actually happening, he didn't feel like he had been right all along. This was his own doing, not fate or destiny.
All of his efforts to change, he realized, were half-hearted. His self-destructive attitude had prevented him from fully committing to improvement. And now it was catching up with him.
He sat on the edge of his bed and thought hard. He mulled over their words, trying to plan out his next move. He wasn't sure if it was getting him anywhere, exactly- he had a tendency to ruminate for hours on end, only to land on self-pity, as always. But this time was different. He didn't know why, but somehow, despite everything, THIS was his rock bottom. Long ago, he'd had nobody in the world, but he couldn't face that again knowing that this time, he'd done it all on his own.
He started pacing for a bit, then gave up and lay on the bed, covering himself with the blanket until he was in total darkness.
It was clear that he needed to change- it had always been obvious- but he needed to be serious about it now. What scared him most was that he thought he'd improved quite a bit, but really, that was nothing. He was still trying to make excuses, even after all this time, and while he wasn't as bad as before . . . Well, he still wasn't where he wanted to be.
He pulled out his phone and texted his uncle, praying that his number hadn't been blocked.
I'm really, really, really sorry. There's no excuse for what I said. I need your help, if you're still willing to offer it. I promise to listen this time.
He sent the message and waited. He held his breath as he saw the ellipses of an incoming message.
I understand. I was in your place not too long ago. I'll help you.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
Thank you.
No problem. What do you need to know?
Someone I care about very much needs my help. She needs to get in contact with Elkay.
NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE
The message went on like that. The Phantom scrolled down a bit, then continued typing.
If you don't want to talk to her, that's fine. I'll do it myself. But in the meantime, I need to make sure that I'm not hurting Christine.
So don't hurt her.
It's not that easy.
What are you having trouble with?
She hates me. And she has every right to. But I don't know how to talk to her without breaking into an argument.
These things take time. If she's upset at you, you just need to tolerate it and keep being good. Once she feels safe, she won't lash out as much.
How does one be good?
Just listen and learn. That's all there is to it.
Listen and learn, listen and learn . . . Well, he'd tried that a good many times, but it never seemed to work.
I already listen to Christine. All the time. But she isn't very rational.
If that's your perspective, you aren't learning. Try to see things from HER point of view.
I have.
But actually COMMIT. Sometimes, you tell yourself that you're ticking all the boxes. A bad reaction will show you otherwise. If she gets upset, alter your behaviour.
What if she's genuinely wrong?
Nobody's perfect. The hard part about changing is that when your life has been a nightmare, you see everything through the lens of your own hurt. Life wasn't kind to me, but I was unkind to others too. It's not one hundred percent your fault that you're the way you are, but it's up to you to change.
That doesn't seem fair.
It isn't. And to be honest, it sucks. It sucks that people hurt you and fucked you up. It sucks that you gotta unfuck yourself when it was their fault in the first place. Just remember that you aren't alone. There are people who love you and want to help you.
I think you've forgotten who you're talking to.
You'd be surprised how much people care about you.
For now.
Well, that's up to you, isn't it?
He swallowed, then rolled over on the bed and typed some more.
Thank you. This has been helpful. I'm going to listen and learn.
Good.
And once again, I'm really sorry for blaming you for what happened.
Truth be told, I blame myself too.
A pause, then a second text.
Gotta head to bed. I'll be here if you need help, but I'm on and off cuz I'm getting ready for a trip.
Have fun.
Not that kind of trip, but thanks.
No problem.
Okay, goodnight. Also, I found this cool picture that I thought you might like.
He sent a photo of Shrek wearing a half mask. The Phantom rolled his eyes.
Thank you. Goodnight.
He put his phone on the nightstand, then lay on his back.
Listen and learn, listen and learn . . .
That shouldn't be too hard.
Except you're gonna fuck it up again.
He shut his eyes tight, clenching his teeth.
Stop. No more negativity, no more self pity. Just be normal. Be normal.
Of course, he was still wearing the mask as he thought this, but that part could wait.