225Twelve
Dawn arrived and light began to slowly fill the room. It was very quiet. No one else was in the house except for Oliver and me, which still wasn't a surprise. Sometimes I wondered how the guy avoided dying from loneliness. Deep breathing coming from Oliver's unconscious form lying on his king size bed, was all that I could hear. I sat, in my boxers, on an oversized ledge by a large window, my feet touching the hardwood floor. Even though I didn't have any clothes on at the time, I was still practically roasting to death. The air conditioning must have been turned off or something and the heat were causing my skin to tingle.
I stared dully out the bedroom window, taking in the depressing smog-filled distant view of L.A., while smoking a joint. The air outside appeared flat and heavy with dead summer. I hated dead summer. With its sweltering heat and hazy skies, I loathed it. I took a hit and glanced behind me at Oliver sprawled naked on top of the sheets, their pristine whiteness enhancing his deeply tanned skin. His hair was a mass of short golden strands sticking up all over the place. There was a slight hitch in his breathing as he rolled onto his stomach and I looked away, letting the smoke trail out of my lungs, swirling around like silvery dust, floating above my head. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, sighed, and slowly stretched my aching muscles. Sleeping on his futon had not been the greatest. Although, oddly enough, I didn't have any type of hangover and it was probably due to the joint that I was smoking, but I didn't really give it too much thought. My moving around must have woken Oliver up because I suddenly heard a soft moan behind me. Limbs rustled the sheets, sending out a silky, sliding sound.
"Mmmmph."
Taking another hit, I looked back. Oliver, his eyes still closed, was frowning while rubbing a hand over his face. He stretched slowly and groaned again. Exhaling, I pinched out the flames and placed the remainder of the joint on Oliver's nightstand, then very slowly, arched my back and stretched all the muscles before stooping over to pick my clothes up off of the floor. I dressed quickly. The urge to leave was overwhelming as I pulled my keys out of my shorts pockets and turned to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" I glanced back and saw a sleepy Oliver, sitting up in the bed. He scratched at his mussed up hair and gave a kittenish yawn before settling again. There was a strange look on his face, one that seemed almost hopeful and oddly shy. I wondered how long he had been watching me.
"Home." Large gray eyes blinked rapidly back at me.
"Oh…" he murmured and lowered his eyes. He must have realized then that he wasn't wearing any clothes because a slight flush covered his face and he raised the bed sheet up to his waist.
"Oh? You were obliterated. I took you home," I said. He stared down at his hands for a moment before lacing his fingers in a grip that caused the knuckles to pale. I could see the muscles in his throat working and his jaw tensed the slightest bit. His reaction only confused me.
"Well…I just thought…" he began softly, his voice trailing off.
I waited for him to finish but his eyes remained downcast. My gaze wandered to his hands that were folded tightly on top of his lap. They shook in a way that was almost undetectable if not for their slight waver and I raised my eyes to look at him again and held it, not knowing what to think or to say or to feel. Then realizing that I couldn't feel anything, something that was gratifying yet left me hesitant, I studied him, urging the emotions to come, the disdain, anger – even pity. But they were locked away, unwilling to resurface. Perhaps they were gone. Perhaps they were never there to begin with. Or perhaps they were there to begin with, yet like so many things in life, they were merely props that my mind had conjured in order to believe that I was really there.
But, I didn't say anything and walked across the room, my shoes clomping against the floor. Before I left, I paused to look at him.
"Nothing happened."
He still hadn't bothered to look up and his eyes remained downcast. I turned away. As I stepped through the door, a thought came to me as to whether or not he was even seeing anything at all.
"What are you doing here?"
Brendan, containing an expression of malevolent surprise, glared at me as his body blocked the doorway. I casually looked around his shoulder and saw his roommate; a tanned blond guy named Adam something or other, staring at me.
"Can I come in?" I asked, ignoring the Adam guy.
He didn't answer right away and I saw the uncertainty in his eyes. I could tell that he was a little disgusted by my overall appearance as his eyes traveled from my unruly hair, my unshaven face, finally landing on my wrinkled clothing. He grimaced and I began to fidget. I was tired, hungry, I needed a shave and a shower, yet oddly enough, I wasn't annoyed nor upset at his behavior. I just couldn't feel anything.
"What are you doing here?" he repeated a little more forcefully this time. I paused, not really knowing why I was there now, and shrugged.
"I don't know. Talk, I guess."
"To talk? Talk about what?" he scoffed. I began to wonder why he was giving me such a hard time. I began to remember that he was the one who had started hating me and alienating me from the beginning. Then, as quickly as the thoughts came to me, they disappeared into the air.
"Um, well…stuff," I said casually, shrugging again.
"Stuff, huh?" he smirked. His eyes ran over me again. "You look like shit, Kyle."
"Thanks."
"No, really, you do," he insisted which really wasn't necessary, yet I just didn't feel insulted. I wondered if I would ever feel insulted again.
"Never thought I would ever see pretty boy number two looking like shit, but man, you could make a dog pile look good!" He gave a short laugh.
"Pretty boy number two, huh? That's funny. Who's the first pretty boy then? Eli?" I asked, hearing his sharp intake of breath. His face tightened at the mention of my stepbrother's name.
"You're a real bastard you know that? Why the hell would you say something like that?"
"I just wanted to know if he was pretty boy number one," I responded simply and he glared at me.
"So, how's your girlfriend, Jordan, doing?" he mocked in a low voice oozing sarcasm. I laughed.
"My girlfriend, huh? Funniness again. Besides, I heard that it was you who secretly had the hots for him. Oh wait, now that I think about it, wasn't it actually Eli that you wanted?"
"Watch you're mouth."
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that it was Eli. What was it? Something about you wanting to rip all of his clothes off and fuck him up the ass?"
"Shut your fucking mouth. You don't know me. You don't know what happened. You don't know anything," he seethed, his eyes shooting ice daggers at me.
"What's your problem? I just asked a question." He glared at me silently.
"But I figured that they were just rumors, so I thought that I would come here and talk to you in person. What I want to know, is exactly what the hell it was that you had going on with my stepbrother?" He still remained silent.
"Or maybe…it wasn't you? Maybe you didn't have anything going on with him? Maybe it was someone else?" I asked, waiting for a response.
"Was that it? Someone else had something going on with Eli? Someone else…like…"
He continued to stare at me for a few seconds longer, his jaw tightening and his eyes burning into mine. I held his gaze and yet he still didn't say anything.
"Fine…fine," I said, feeling very tired at that moment. "Forget it." I walked away, leaving him standing in the doorway staring after me.
Traffic was pretty steady as I drove away from Lincoln with the top down and the Beastie Boy's Ill Communication CD blaring through my speakers. I looked in the rearview mirror. My unkempt reflection stared back at me through the indigo tinted lenses of my sunglasses. I needed a haircut.
You don't know me.
You don't know what happened.
I came to a stop at a red streetlight and patiently waited for it to turn green while absently tapping my hands against the steering wheel to the music's beat. To my right, a huge billboard read that the time was seven twenty-three a.m. with the temperature set at eighty-eight degrees. I began to hum along with the music. A few moments later the light turned green. I wondered what would happen if I were to just let go of the steering wheel. Just let go and cruise around, and around until I crashed into a building, a house, another car, a person, anything. What would happen? Would I die? And if I died, would anybody really give a shit?
I ejected the Beastie Boys CD and inserted one by the Smashing Pumpkins, yet as soon as I put it in, I ended up ejecting that one too. I went through several more selections: Metallica, Soul Asylum, Violent Femmes – unsatisfied with almost all of them. I didn't really want to listen to it, but I finally gave up and settled on just the radio. A deejay was talking in belligerent tones about the weather and upcoming events for the weekend. When I reached my driveway, the security guard gave me a brief nod and opened the gates, allowing me to pass through. I pulled up to the house and decided to just leave my car out instead of putting into the garage, so I parked next to my sister's red Porsche. I turned off the engine, cutting the music, and sat there motionless for a few minutes. I half-heard a coyote from the distance give a very faint howl. A depressing rising and falling of tenors and bass, fading into the quiet, subtle chirping of birds. The time ticked away unnoticed, while my mind began to wander.
"You don't know anything," I mumbled, staring off into space.