| I got out of my shower half expecting Emma to be gone. I had kind of taken a really long shower. Not that I planned to take long shower; I didn't do it purposely to avoid her or anything, it's just that I had sort of forgotten I was taking a shower.
No, I didn't forget I was actually in the shower, wet and naked, it's that I was so out of it. The dream I had was still in my head, as vivid, and intense as it was when I was asleep. The voice was hers. Those hands, that voice! It was all hers. The realization hit me hard, and I couldn't handle what was going on; I lost my surroundings. I sat there, and tried to make sense of my dream, and I was hoping; no, praying, that what I thought it meant, wasn't true. I couldn't. My dream had to mean nothing.
But her voice. So real in my head, there was no way my subconscious could conjure such an antagonized voice, if not that I actually truly. . .Loved her. No way I could just dream the same dream, but this time I was no fighting to stay alive for just one little voice.
Thus I spent a good forty minutes, standing in the shower until the water ran cold. I had hardly even realized it was cold, until I shivered so hard, it felt like a convulsion. I got out, soon after, and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around me. I wished, at that moment the towels weren't like little cocktail dresses; they only came down to about mid-thigh. So when I walked out of the bathroom, into my room, I expected her to have been long gone. But she was still there, book in hand, sitting in the chair next to the wall. She was used to the sight of me in a towel, so I continued to my dresser without hesitation.
"What took you so long?" she flipped the page of her book, without looking up.
"Uh, the water wouldn't get warm, I had to wait a really long time.." it seemed like a perfectly good excuse to me. I kept my face out of sight, just in case.
"Oh," She didn't seem interested.
I took a pair of pants, and some boxers, "How come you're still here? By now, I thought your dad would have picked you up." It was odd that she was still here. Her dad was supposed to pick her up and drop her off at her mother's: her parent's were divorced. Emma says it's a long story.
"He's late," She looked up at me with a face that said I should shut up. I obeyed.
"I'll be back in a bit," I waved my fresh pair of clothes in a the air a bit, and walked back into the bathroom.
"Fucking. Jerk." I heard her whisper to herself, when she thought I couldn't hear. * * * I got dressed, and came back out. I was still expecting her to be gone, as I did any time I left and came back; like she was a figment of my imagination all along. But what seemed like routine, she was still sitting. Reading. Annoyed.
"Your dad call?" I tried.
She shifted in her seat, and looked nonchalantly at her book, "He never calls. He's never on time. It's not like I didn't expect this." I found the lies in her words, and frowned.
"Oh." She shrugged and put her book down, to look at me. Her eyes were searching for something, I could tell, but she gave up before I could put my finger on what it was.
"He's a big-shot, the head honcho, top dog. Enough time to fit in ten meetings in one day, pay the bills, send a donation to this hospital. But he can't take time to pick up his own daughter," She looked away from my face and stared at her feet, "It's always been that way."
I tried to think of something to say; something to console her, to make her laugh.
'Hey, y'know, my dad drives me insane, and makes me take medication for depression, when all it is, is teenage frustration' doesn't sound like it would help.
I sighed and looked down. Nothing came to mind, so I simply looked up at her.
"I'm sorry, Em." I offered a simple smile, and sat down against the glass. My back turned to her.
I heard her take a breath, and then some shuffling. I felt the heat of her back against mine.
"Will you miss me? When I go back home?"
At this moment, I was glad she couldn't see my face. See that my lips twisted into a smile.
I closed my eyes,"You keep me from killing myself, Emma. I'm going to miss you until the exact moment I know you're back here." I was thankful of this glass, I was thankful she couldn't touch me, or watch me with those piercing eyes. Because I could be alone on my side of the glass, and the longing, the pain I would feel, when she would leave, would only be that much worse, with her touch, or her stare. She couldn't make it worse, than it already was, if she sat on her side of the glass, as she did.
"I feel the same," she whispered softly. She looked down and I could hear her breathing. A soft, rhythmic tune. She sighed after a while, and got up.
"My dad's here," she said.
"What? I turned around, to look at her face, but she had her back turned, as she gathered her things.
"I can hear him. He's here. Bye Ashton," she whispered again.
I looked at her for a while, gathering her things into one bag, and nodded, "Bye Em."
She walked out the door, without a second farewell.
"Bye."
My whisper reverberated around an empty room. * * * I guess I had been sitting for a long time, since my dad walked in my room. My parents visited early morning, and around six or seven, depending on the day. My dad took a seat to my left; it was silent for a moment.
"Is mom here?" I was the first one to speak.
"She's not. She's out with your grandmother," My dad replied back, softly. This was good news; I could talk to him without restraint.
"I want you to do something for me, Dad." The way I sounded must had been grave, because my dad's features changed completely. I could see him lean forward, out of the corner of my eye.
"Up my anti-depressants. Put me on morphine. Something stronger than I've already got. Fool the doctors if you have to." I kept looking straight, I stared at nothing in particular.
"Ashton," he spoke softly, almost asking me to take back what I had just said. Begging,
"Dad, I'm not kidding. I need something," I closed my eyes, and leaned my head back against the cold of the glass. It felt nice.
"Ashton, what's the problem? Why do you-" he stopped talking, I opened my eyes to look at him; he was hunched over, his hands holding his face, "What?" he asked simply.
I sighed and looked ahead, "The only friend I have. The only face I've grown to see every day- it seems oddly pathetic to ask, and I'm aware, but I don't care. I've got balls enough to admit I need to handle this. That's how I want to deal with it. Fill me up with meds, fuck me up on morphine, but please. Please, dad don't let me do this on my own."
My dad sat there for a long moment. I could tell he was debating my plea, by the look on his face. He kept looking back at me, and I guess it didn't help that I was turned to face him, now.
"You can't think of any other way, Ashton?" he said finally. I shook my head silently. He closed his eyes, leaning back, his hands brought up to his temples.
"Your mother will want to know."
"Then tell her," I leaned my back against the glass.
"I'm taking this out of your Christmas present, Ashton." I breathed a sigh of relief, and closed my eyes.   |
