25—A Girl Named Dot—25

Luckily I had a key to Essie’s apartment. I don’t think she would have answered the door if I had knocked. I stepped inside, looking around. Nothing seemed that out of place, though the DVD collection seemed to be ransacked. I didn’t hear her in the kitchen, so I went to the bedroom.

Essie was curled up on the bed, staring straight ahead with no expression. And an Essie with no expression was not an Essie at all.

“Eddie,” I murmured.

“Don’t call me that,” he whispered.

“But you look like a man today. Where’d all that fuzz come from?” I rubbed my jaw.

“I don’t care.”

“Honey, what’s wrong? What did Peaches say?”

“Leave me alone.” He rolled over and faced the other wall.

I sat down on the bed and touched his arm. He flinched at the contact. What was this? Eddie wasn’t supposed to be sad. He was never the sad one. I was the person who was always angry and miserable. He was the one in charge of picking up my mood. So when he just lied there, head curled into his chest, legs clamped together, I got scared.

I slid off the bed and crossed to the other side. This way I was facing him. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin as pale as Zared’s. I’d never seen him so messed up.

“Essie?” I asked softly.

Eddie looked up at me with tear-rimmed eyes. He tried rubbing a hand over his face, but I grabbed his wrist.

“Aren’t you always the one telling me not to feel ashamed of my tears?”

“You’re a girl.”

I straightened. “And you’re a transvestite. Not exactly the manliest guy out there.”

“Still.” He sniffed loudly and twisted his head so he could shove it into the pillow.

“What did Peaches say?”

“He moved out,” he whispered. “And then told me we had to take a break.”

“He broke up with you?” I nearly shrieked.

“No.” Eddie sighed and pulled his face out of the pillow. “He refused to say that.”

I put a hand over my mouth in shock and disbelief. It wasn’t even possible. I’m serious. It wasn’t possible. If a perfect relationship like Peaches’s and Eddie’s fell apart, where did the leave the rest of us that were average?

No. I wouldn’t think about it. Because these two could not break up. Honestly. You couldn’t find two people more suited for each other. And who couldn’t get along with Eddie? The boy was pretty much a configuration of every wonderful person on the planet. He was loving, friendly, funny, unbelievably cute, helpful, an excellent cook, forgiving, accepting, understanding . . . Every favorable adjective in the dictionary could be used to describe Eddie. What flaw had Peaches found so unforgivable? If a person found a flaw in Eddie, then there was no one else on the planet he could possibly date. Once you rejected Eddie, you rejected the rest of humanity.

“There’s gotta be a mistake,” I whispered.

“No.”

“But you and Peaches are— are—” I trailed off, unable to find a word a bit more realistic than “perfect”.

Eddie clenched his eyes shut and buried back into his pillows, his limbs shrinking further into himself. He’d never looked so pathetic and heartbroken. My chest ached with sympathy. It literally ached. I knew what it was like to love and abruptly lose. I knew what it was like to look inside yourself and wonder what the hell was so wrong with you.

I recalled my loss of Miguel. It was almost the same thing. Except Miguel and I never really broke up. He didn’t move because he hated me or because we argued all the time. His move had nothing to do with me. And as much as I didn’t believe that in the first weeks of his absence, I understood that now. This time it was somebody’s fault. And I wouldn’t believe it was Eddie’s.

I lied down on the bed next to him and wrapped my arms around him. I could feel him trembling beneath me. Eddie? Trembling? Eddie was always the tall, strong one. The one who got food from high shelves and lifted heavy items for me. I never wanted to believe he could tremble like a scared baby deer.

I slid one arm around his shoulders and used the other to smooth his hair. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, finally succombing to tears.

“Oh, baby,” I whispered into his silky golden locks, the ones I envied pretty much every day of my life. “I’m so sorry.”

“I tried so hard to make it right again,” Eddie whimpered. “I tried, Dot. I tried so hard.”

“I know you did,” I said, kissing him right above the ear. I rubbed circles between his shoulders and hugged him tighter. “I know you tried. This isn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is. If I hadn’t gone to that party . . . God, Dot, it’s all my fault.”

I felt bad for ever doubting his story about the bathroom scene. Eddie wouldn’t have lied to me. Lying was beyond his capacity.

“Shh,” I insisted. “It’s not your fault. You made a small mistake. Peaches just . . . interpreted it wrong.”

“Then why didn’t he believe me? Why didn’t he trust me to tell him the truth? Why does he hate me?”

“He doesn’t hate you, honey. Peaches is just . . .” Totally insane and blind. “ . . . confused.”

“I don’t care if he ever forgives me. I don’t care if he holds it against me the rest of my life. I just want him to come home.”

Tears welled in my eyes now. I’d never heard so much sincere pain in someone’s voice. Eddie was so willing to walk across the ocean and fly to the moon if it meant Peaches coming back. Which was incredibly moving and poignant.

“Things’ll get better,” I told him, thought I couldn’t be sure. “I promise.”

*****

I called Mitchell and told him he’d have to survive a few days without me there. There were people in more dire need of me.

Eddie told me to go home and not worry about him (being selfless, per usual) but I refused. For once I could repay him for all the times he’d held me and comforted my tears.

Eddie wanted to make me lunch, but I told him absolutely no way and we went out. He didn’t even bother to shave. He merely shoved his feet into some sneakers and threw on his corduroy jacket over a T-shirt. Even when he dressed like a man, he’d never been so careless with his looks.

“Your hair is all over the place,” I told him with a chuckle, trying to stand on my tip toes and fix it.

Eddie ran a shaky hand over his curls. “I don’t really care right now.”

“Probably not. But I just thought I’d warn you.”

“I don’t feel like caring ever again.” He sighed and opened the staircase door open for me. Still a gentleman. “I just— I just want to be Eddie again.”

“You can’t be serious,” I replied in shock. “But— but you’re Essie. I love Essie. What am I supposed to do without her?”

“Make your own breakfast.”

I smiled at him. “I kind of want Essie back now.”

“She was a lie.”

“But everyone loved the lie.”

Eddie shook his head and didn’t answer.

We drove to the café Dot’s. I didn’t go there anymore because it was where I met Miguel and it brought back bittersweet memories. But it felt cozy and familiar when I walked in.

I paid for Eddie’s fruit salad and bagel sandwich. I got a panini and a milkshake, which I shared with Eddie.

“Oh my God.”

We looked up at the woman that had approached our table. She was dressed in leggings, a thick scarf and some off-the-shoulder shirt that made me believe she was a fashion guru. Her hair was dark and kind of crazy but cool all the same. Even if she seemed to put way too much time into her make-up, she was pretty creative with her appearance.

“You’re— you’re the guy on that billboard!” she exclaimed with a wide smile.

Eddie blinked at her, stunned. His voice was low when he replied, “Um . . . yeah, I am.”

She put a hand to her heart. “Oh, wow, well . . . you are so gorgeous. I just thought I’d say that. I pass it everyday and everyday I’m like, ‘I have to buy that for my beau.’” She laughed, tossing her hair. “Not that he’d look as good as you in it.”

“Uh, thanks.” Even though he’d probably gotten the same compliment a million times, he blushed.

She turned to me. “Are you two . . .?”

“What? Oh no!” I almost laughed. This was what happened when Eddie used his man voice. “No, we’re best friends.”

“This is probably a rude question, but are you, like, attached or anything? Because I have several girlfriends who always talk about that sign—”

“Um, he’s gay,” I told her.

“Oh. Well, it isn’t only my girlfriends who talk about that sign. My friend at work who is, by the way, so gay, loves that sign.”

“He’s sort of in a relationship,” I told her. I knew she was just trying to make small talk, but she wasn’t helping Eddie’s emotional state.

“Of course you are!” she exclaimed with a smile. “Whoever he is, he must feel so lucky.”

I glanced at Eddie. His eyes looked a little glossy.

“I’m sorry for bothering you two,” the girl stated. “But maybe you could give me an autograph or something. Just to prove I met you. My girlfriends will be so jealous.”

“Oh. Okay.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a pad of paper. She handed it over to Eddie.

“What do you want me to write?” Eddie asked.

“Just write ‘To the annoying girl who interrupted my—’ Just kidding. Put ‘To my best fan, Janice.’”

“It’s nice to meet you, Janice,” Eddie said.

“Oh, I’m not Janice. Janice is my younger sister. She likes the billboard too. She needs something to cheer her up, after she broke up with her boyfriend and all.”

“How sad,” I commented as Eddie bent over the pad and scribbled her request. He also had pretty writing, which was another way he was flawless.

“Yeah, well . . .” The woman shrugged. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be, right? He was a cool guy, but there are a bunch of cooler guys out there.” She threw us both a white smile as Eddie handed her back the tiny notebook. “Thank you so much. You’re not only gorgeous but nice too!”

Then she walked away, hair and hips swinging.

“I want to go back home,” Eddie whispered.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

I really wanted to hang out at Eddie’s place, watch dumb movies, and eat moose tracks ice cream, but I had work. Eddie was supposed to work too, but I told him to stay at home and go easy on himself. He didn’t want to, of course. Eddie was all about pretending nothing was wrong. He took care of others over himself every time. But I told him to be selfish for once. I knew how I felt when I lost Miguel. No way was he in working condition.

Work pretty much sucked without Eddie there. Aaron was great, but he mainly hung out in the kitchen. I had to serve customers, no matter how ugly, crude, or disrespectful they were. However, there was an unusually pleasant girl who was nice to me. She had dyed black hair with red tips and boobs the size of watermelons. I honestly had no idea how she walked around without falling down. She was a little chubby, but she looked thin in comparison to her breasts. I wondered where Oliver was. He’d appreciate her chest more than anyone.

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she told me when I slid her her third beer.

“What do you mean?”

“Hector talks about you sometimes.”

“Hector? You know Hector?”

She giggled. “Hector’s my boyfriend. I’m Natosha. Didn’t you know that?”

“No.” I hadn’t expected a Goth white girl to be Hector’s girlfriend. I shouldn’t have been surprised though. All his friends were white (except me, of course.) However, all his other girlfriends had been black. I’d never met them, but I’d seen them running aorund with him.

But hey, the boy could date whoever he liked.

“Well, I am.” She extended a hand for me to shake. All her fingers were covered in rings and gadgets. I shook it with caution. When I pulled back, she grinned.

“How does he talk about me sometimes?”

“Oh, he never says anything bad. He always talks about how great this place is.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Where’s the other bartender? You know, the drag queen?”

“He’s home sick.”

She pouted. I could tell she was simply a pleasant girl. I was used to some pretty tough, angry types in here. I wasn’t used to the light expression on her face. For God’s sake, she was dressed in black and chains. Yet she had the cheer of a school mascot.

“Which is too bad, because I think you’d really like him. He’s really bubbly and . . . well, gay.”

She gave me another happy smile and took a sip from her drink.

“So, uh, you’re the one with the hot tub?”

“Oh, yeah. It’s really a pretty crappy hot tub. It’s, like, twenty years old. But it works, which is all Hector cares about.”

“And you guys have been dating for . . . how long?”

“Four months.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“He’s an idiot and a dick, but I love him.”

I could understand the relationship. Hector was a pretty nice guy (at least when he wasn’t around Griffin and Oliver.) And while there was no question to what Hector liked in a girlfriend (the same as every man on the planet, apparently,) he seemed like a guy who could dig committment. I was proud of him for maintaining a relationship.

As I walked away from Natosha, I suddenly became resolute. I needed to get Peaches and Eddie back together. I had to. It was not a choice but an obligation. If our roles were reversed, Eddie would do everything in his power to get my boyfriend back. He wouldn’t give up until I was happy.

*****

“Oliver, I need to talk to you.”

“You do realize it’s nine in the morning, right? Didn’t you have the late shift? Don’t you get home at, like, three o’ clock.”

“I couldn’t get much sleep.” I pushed past him into the apartment. “Is Peaches here?”

“Asleep, like I’m supposed to be. What do you want?”

I turned around and faced him. Never mind he was only wearing a pair of cross-skull boxers. I was so hyped up I was able to ignore the multiple tattoos that made it painfully obvious women were his job.

“Tell me. How has Peaches acted lately?”

“Since when?”

“Saturday.”

Oliver ran a hand through his messy dark hair in thought. “Pretty pathetic. We were at band practice last night and he totally fucked it up. Then he got really hard on himself. I was waiting for him to start beating himself with a mace.”

“So you want things to change, right? Because Peaches is sucking.”

“Yeah, kind of.” He narrowed his eyes. “Is this some scheme--”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” He straightened. “What do you propose?”

“I want Eddie back to normal because I feel bad for him. You want Peaches back to normal because he can’t play when he’s so upset and miserable.”

“Yeah.”

“We need to get them back together.”

Oliver held up his hands. “I have a strict policy of not getting involved. I’m no expert at relationships. In fact, I’ve never had a relationship longer than three days in my whole life. Why don’t you ask Griffin or something? He’d know more than me.”

“Is Griffin here?”

“Um, no.”

“Look, Peaches is your pal, right?”

Oliver shrugged. “Yeah, he’s cool.”

“Well, do this for him. Don’t you think he’s better off with Eddie than in this place?”

Oliver looked around the apartment. “It’s not that bad . . .”

“Can you just talk to Peaches? Knock some sense into him?”

“Nope.”

“Oliver . . .”

“No. I don’t take sides. That’s a good way to get fucked.” He yawned loudly.

“Fine. Just tell Peaches to go to such-and-such place at such-and-such time and let me take care of it.”

“Then he’ll get pissed at me.”

“Because no one ever gets pissed at you, Oliver.”

“Not Peaches. Look, if you want me to lie, trick, and deceive Zared, I’m all yours. But Peaches is cool. I’m not gonna lie to him.”

“Fine. Fine.” I sighed heavily. “Look. Tell him that Eddie and I will be at Sunny’s Ice Cream Parlor at six on Sunday. It’s a few blocks down from The Smoke. If he wants to talk to Eddie and sort things out, he’s welcome to show up. I promise not to interfere.”

“He won’t do it.”

“Then that proves he’s a coward.”

“Look, I’ve never seen that boy so miserable in my life. It’s fucking pathetic. I think there’s more going on with him than we think. Eddie somehow triggered some subconscious fears in him and he’s reacting the only way he knows how.”

I stared at Oliver. I’d never heard him say such deep, thoughtful things in my life. But I guess Oliver would know all about subconscious fears. He had a multitude of his own.

“So don’t say he’s a coward. He’s just . . .” Oliver sighed. “I don’t know . . .”

“Eddie can help,” I said softly. “And you know it.”

Oliver only shook his head.

“Just tell him, okay? It’ll totally be his choice if he wants to come or not.”

“He’ll think I’m taking Eddie’s side.”

“No, he won’t. Come on, Oliver. We both want the same thing, right?”

“I guess.”

I hugged Oliver, which was weird, but only a little. “Thank you so much. You’re my best pal.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“Six on Sunday, okay? Sunny’s Ice--”

“--Cream Parlor. I know.”

I smiled, gave him a thumbs up, and left.

It was all up to Peaches now.

*****

“I can’t talk to him, Dot.”

“Yeah? Why not?”

“What do I say? What do I do?” Eddie ran a hand over his face as we turned a corner.

“Be your usual loving self,” I replied.

Eddie smoothed his hands over his jeans. Sunday had crept on us faster than we’d thought. Eddie had spent two hours picking out an outfit, as if what he wore would make up Peaches mind. I was surprised he looked so cheery. He wore a pink sweater and the usual scarf latched lightly around his throat. He crossed his legs over and over again in an effort to ease the tension.

“Eddie,” I warned.

“Why would you do this without asking me first?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t want to do this.” I reached over and took his hand. I wrapped my stubby fingers through his long, thin ones. “Come on. This is your best chance of patching things up with him.” I gave him a smile.

“I know, I know.” He pressed his lips together and glanced at his lap. “What if he yells at me in public? What if he makes a scene? What if he doesn’t say anything at all? What if he doesn’t come?”

“He’ll come.”

“You want to bet on it?”

I just squeezed his hand and pulled up to an empty parking space. Once I had squeezed in between two SUVs, we made our way to Sunny’s.

We ordered our ice cream (sundae for Eddie, two simple scoops of mint for me) and got comfortable. It was now five-thirty.

We made small talk, but I couldn’t ignore the way Eddie kept looking torward the door anxiously. I tried drawing his mind away from Peaches, but it was like steering the Titanic away from the iceberg. Eddie could not be distracted. He barely ate his sundae, forcing me to eat it (you don’t let good food go to waste.)

“It’s six,” he blurted, glancing down at his watch. “It’s six, Dot.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“He’s not here.”

I rolled my eyes. “First of all, it’s five ‘til. You’re a liar. Second of all, chill out. We’ve still got time.”

But ten minutes rolled past, and even I was having my doubts. It it were in Peaches’s character to be late, I wouldn’t worry. But Peaches was always on time, if not early. Eddie wouldn’t stop fidgeting, from playing the the spoon in his bowl to biting his lip, to picking at a nail.

“He’s not coming,” Eddie murmured ten minutes after six.

“Um . . .” What could I say? “Give him another ten minutes, okay?”

“He’s not coming.”

“Eddie . . .”

Well, we waited another ten minutes.

Nothing.

We left the ice cream parlor in defeat. I’d tried to help Eddie and in return I only hurt him. I felt like shit. Looking at Eddie, I knew he felt like shit. We crossed the road with our heads bowed, our spirits dragging behind us.

We slipped into the car. I reached over and laid my hand on Eddie’s. Just as I opened my mouth, a partly rusted car pulled into the parking spot two cars away.

It was Griffn’s car.

“There he is!” I cried, pointing.

“It could just be Griffin.”

We both slipped back out of the car. And who do you think pulled himself out of Griffin’s car but Peaches Caudlin, looking very angsty in his black T-shirt, black jeans, and black boots. Oliver poked out of the driver’s side. He pulled himself through the open window and sat on the ledge, lighting up a cigarette and blowing a swirly plume from between his pursed lips. He caught my eyes a moment, gave me a smirk, slipped back into the car, gunned the engine, and drove away.

Peaches looked like total shit, but I wasn’t going to tell anyone that. His hair was a huge mat (well, mattier than usual), there were bags under his eyes, lines around his mouth, and his clothes looked like he slept in them. It was apparent that he wasn’t handling this separation any better in Eddie. In fact, I think he was handling it worse.

“Hi,” he greeted in a gruff, hardly-used voice.

“Hi,” Eddie replied, trying out a weak smile.

This was pathetic. But it was something.

“Well, we kind of finished up at the ice cream place, but there’s a bar.” I pointed to the hip new-age bar we stood next to. It was the kind of place that made The Smoke look exactly what it was: a pub in a basement. Still, I bet the bartenders in there didn’t know everyone’s name like I did. “You guys can talk it over in there.”

Peaches only shrugged. Eddie nodded nervously.

“Call me if you need me,” I told Eddie. I squeezed his hand and then returned to my car.

26—A Boy Named Esmerelda—26

I really, really hated silence. More so than usual. And the thing was, I couldn’t even chatter ceaselessly to cover it up. Things were too broken and awkward for nervous ranting. I could only stare at my hands, and he at his.

He looked like shit. I probably did too. I admit that I was a little surprised. Before we dated, Peaches made his attraction to me a complete secret. I caught not a whiff of it, hence why I believed him to be straight. He was good at hiding things from me and everyone else, big things. He assured me before that his overwhelming infatuation with me had been destroying him, giving him insomnia, distracting him at every corner, and pushing him toward a bout of depression. And no one had a clue. So to see him so messed up . . . I couldn’t figure out why. Well, other than the obvious, of course.

Peaches glanced at me. I didn’t to keep secrets like him. Everything I felt showed on my face and in my dress. I lied about many things, but I didn’t lie about my feelings. I was an open book for everyone to read, and I think that was why everyone tended to enjoy my company. People could be themselves around me because I was myself. You couldn’t get much weirder than a drag queen, and they all figured they could be as strange as they actually were and not come close to touching the strange that was me.

Why did he lie? Not only did he lie with his clothing, his demeanor, and his words, but he lied in his arguments. I’d been mulling over this for some time, trying to understand how simple little things like modeling could give him a fit. Surely there was more to it than his political disagreement with the industry.

There was something else.

And he wasn’t telling me.

I used to enjoy trying to figure him out. His lies never bothered me much, because if I got him alone in a dark room and kissed him enough, he’d usually tell me the truth. He’d voice his insecurities to me eventually, and I won’t say I didn’t enjoy the process and satisfaction of yanking them from him.

But now I had no means through which I could get a hold of this information, and it was distressing. I didn’t enjoy figuring this out. I wanted him to tell me what was actually wrong.

“Are we going to sit here and stare at the table or are we going to talk?” I asked with a delicate sniff. I pressed my lips together, because I’d come off so bitter. I had to go slowly with this man, and I had to do it with a smile on my face the whole time. That’s what usually worked on Peaches. I had to kill him with kindness. I never understood that saying until now.

“I don’t know what to say.” Peaches swirled his gingerale sluggishly.

“Nothing?”
“I feel like talking about this more would be like beating a dead horse.”

“You said we’re taking a break. Care to explain yourself more thoroughly?”

He shrugged. “I just—I don’t know what to do. We fight constantly. I thought maybe some time apart would do us some good.”

“Just time apart? And communication wasn’t included in this master plan of yours?”

“Eddie.” He raised dark eyes to mine. I tried not flinching at the name. He sighed heavily and ran a hand over his hair. “That’s what you do, okay? You talk and talk and talk and eventually you talk so much that you leave nothing else to talk about. You feel better when you talk. That’s why you and Dot get along so well—you talk to each other about everything. But I’m not like that. I don’t fix my problems through talk.”

“Then how do you fix them?” I asked.

“Time. Contemplation. Chai tea.”

“Is that sarcasm? Because it’s really not appreciated right now.” What happened to killing with kindness, Essie? You idiot. I came here with the intention of begging and pleading and swallowing every goddamn inch of pride I had. I was willing to do anything to have him come back. And now I realized how impossible that was.

He called me Eddie. Might as well act like him.

“Only the last one was sarcasm. And it was kind of a joke . . .”

I just stared at him stern-faced.

“Self-reflection is the route I take, more often than not.”

“So you don’t need help from friends?”

“No. Oliver and Griffin would be horrible advice-givers, not that they’d want to give it to me anyway. Hector and Zared . . . no. Definitely not. The one I always sum up the courage to talk to is you, and being as I can’t talk to you for five seconds without getting an angry response, I have no one to go to. Which is fine. I hate taking my shit to people. They don’t want it. It’s my shit to deal with. No one should have to put up with my problems when they’ve got their own.”

“You’re talking to me now. Tell me about said shit, and I’ll try my best to deal with.”

“Yeah, like you’d give me a rational, unbiased response. Obviously you think you’re the innocent one. Perfect little Eddie, cute and cuddly, would never hurt a fly because he’s just sooooo nice and sooooo forgiving and everyone loves him.”

“Would you shut up?”

“You think you’re blameless in this whole ordeal. Admit it.”

“I haven’t done anything other than get a job you don’t like and grab someone in a way that you misinterpreted.”

“And go on a date with a man on our day together.”

“For two hours!”

“Oh, and who could forget? He wanted to take you on the date because of how super special awesome you are. No matter what you do, it’s because everyone just adores you.”

People were starting to look at us. We probably should have met somewhere in private, where we wouldn’t let the public in on our relationship problems. I finished my drink with a chug and slammed it onto the table. “So this whole thing is about your petty jealousy?”
“No! Most of it is about your drunken blow job.”

“I didn’t—”

“Even if you didn’t do it, it reminds me of just how much I hate it when you flirt with every guy, even when you’re sober.”

“Peaches, I flirt with everyone. Including Dot’s dad, Mitchell, and Mrs. Chung’s eighty-year old boyfriend. It’s just how I am.”

“Funny. Funny how you’ve always flirted with everyone, but you never flirted with me when we first met. Why is that? You claim it’s because you were afraid I was straight. But being as you flirt with straight men—”

“I already explained that to you. I can’t help it if you don’t understand.”

“God, you are just—”

“Is everything all right here, gentlemen?” a waitress asked, giving us both the evil eye as she stepped beside our table.

I nodded slightly. “I’m really sorry. We’ll keep it down.”

She peered at me and Peaches a moment before moving on.

Looking at Peaches now, I had an ephiphany.

Fuck it.

Fuck it all. I had come here with a plan: to beg. To crawl on my knees and take a beating in return for his acceptance. To behave as pathetically desperate as possible, because in reality I was pathetically desperate.

But that was wrong. I’d been begging and pleading this whole time. Every time we started an argument, I was on the defensive, trying to calm him down, trying to get him to see reason. He never listened. He kept attacking, and he didn’t seem to care that I was trying my hardest. He just retaliated with spite and bitterness, and I was left vulnerable at his feet. He cut me and he stabbed me over and over again when I left myself open. He yanked out my guts and seemed to revel in it.

Dot was my opposite. She was a linebacker, plowing down everyone in her way, focused on her goal. She didn’t take flak, she didn’t take excuses, and she was always right. I always thought her callous and rude for it, but maybe she was trying to protect her delicate foundation before it all collapsed.

I felt like that now. I couldn’t kiss his feet anymore. I couldn’t be Essie, smiling through her pain and taking the blow for the good of everyone. I had to cling on to whatever part of me still remained intact and run, run for dear life.

Peaches wanted to be alone? Fine. He could damn well be alone. Let him see what it was like without me. He once told me that I was his world, that only through my intervention had he found any worth in himself. He loved it when I built him up, calling him beautiful and talented and sexy and small other truths I divulged without hesitation. He always told me he didn’t deserve someone like me.

Maybe he didn’t.

I came upon my decision. I could almost hear my heart rip down the middle as I stood, could feel tears build up behind my eyes, felt the pressure in my chest that was quickly transforming into pain. I knew that if I let him beat and ridicule me anymore, I wouldn’t escape with emotions intact. This was the only way to preserve myself from more hurt, even if the act itself hurt enough to cripple a man.

Peaches looked up at me. I stared down into those eyes, eyes that had once crinkled up with a small smile or laugh, eyes that had once gazed at me adoringly through the weak light in our bedroom, eyes that had once taken in my physique hungrily and passionately, eyes that had once filled with determination when he sat behind a set of drums, eyes that had once gazed straight at me and told me, without words, that they loved me endlessly.

They were different eyes now. They were filled with pain, anger, misery and hate. I didn’t even recognize them. I remembered my first morning spent with Peaches, when I first saw him emerge from the bathroom with a clean-shaven jaw and a clean wardrobe. I had looked at those eyes and said to myself, those are the most gentle eyes I have ever seen.

I would not cry. I wouldn’t.

“Peaches,” I began, forcing my voice to remain steady. “We both need time to think and reflect. This is true. But I know that in your case, time will do nothing. You’ll keep your pain inside and let it fester. You won’t get help, and you won’t talk about it. Sometimes we can’t solve our own problems, and I understand that. You don’t. So I don’t expect time to do anything for you.”
“Eddie—”

I held up a hand, and surprisingly, he shut up.

“A ‘break’, as you call it, is therefore useless. I know what you really want.”

His eyes grew a second, and he tried to say my name again. I shook my head and took a step away from the table.

“But you aren’t even fucking brave enough to say it,” I murmured. “Well, guess what? I am.” I inhaled sharply and forced myself to meet his eyes. “It’s not a break, Peaches. It’s a separation.”

Peaches only stared at me, wide-eyed.

“I guess I’ll see you around then,” I said, taking a step backward.

Peaches’s brow folded, and he frowned. “Eddie, don’t you just walk away. We’re not done discussing this!”

“Goodbye, Peaches,” I whispered, then turned around and left the bar.

*****

“You know why I love nicknames?”

“Why?”

“Because only the people who love you use them.”

“Not fair. Everyone calls you Peaches. I feel a closer connection to your real name, because I’m one of the only people who knows it.”

“I guess my nickname doesn’t count then. But I love Essie more than Eddie.”

“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s more. . . personal sounding, you know? Essie.” He gives me a broad smile. “My Essie.”

I stared at my ceiling, at the tiny cracks and the small water stain that seeped through the corner. This apartment was old, small, and cheap. I used to love it. Now I hated it.

Fingers are running through my hair. We both gaze at the ceiling, even though we can’t see much in the darkness. My head is resting on his slowly rising and falling chest. One of his arms is sitting on my collar bone, the other raised so that his hand can stroke my curls.

“I love your hair,” he tells me. “It’s the perfect hair for touching.”

“Hmm. I wish you didn’t have dreads. That way I could run my fingers through your hair.”

A chin leans on my head, then swivels around so that a warm cheeks is pressed there. His grip tightens on me.

“What is it?” I ask him.

“Sometimes it just feels like a dream, you know? Times when we’re just kind of lying around, doing nothing. It’s when we’re silent, both lying naked in the dark, that I feel this surreal connection with you. It’s weird. I actually feel like we share some link, almost like we’re the same person. And I know I could just lie here forever and be the happiest man on Earth.”

His head leans down and he presses his mouth to my temple. “The goddamn happiest man on Earth.”

How many times had I shared this view with someone else, this disgusting view of of our disgusting ceiling, a ceiling that was yellowing, as if someone had smoked in here before I moved in? Had I ever hated it this much? I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember hating these yellowish-green walls as much as I did now, nor the off-white carpet or blue sheets that in no way matched the room.

“Blue sheets? Seriously? Our rooms are yellow, dear.”

“Yeah, but these were on sale.”

“You could just buy nice sheets.”

At this he smirks. “And what? Get them all stained?”

I glance down at the package in my hands and smirk as well. “You have a point.”

He wraps me up in his arms and bites my ear lightly. “Care to test them out?”

“Sure. Hopefully my inner gay doesn’t vomit a rainbow over how un-color-coordinated the whole thing is.”

He laughs long and loud, and I kiss him to shut him up.

There were ghosts in this bed. I felt them. I felt fingers at my neck, at my lips, in my hair, running along my chest, grasping my thigh, running softly along my butt, dancing up the ridges of my spine, pressing my hands to the mattress gently and gripping my waist firmly. I felt lips everywhere as well, lips at my temple, at my mouth, at my ear, at my neck, at my shoulder, at my chest, at my stomach, at my hip, at my thigh, at my insides of my knees. I felt warmth that wasn’t my own, pressing down on me, enveloping me completely, making me feel safe and warm.

I heard words slip through the air, so many words. Words and sounds. There was a soft, sleepy murmur: “Did I wake you up?”. There was a squeal and laughter, then a “You’ll pay for that!” followed by hilarity. There was a hum, then, “You make a good pillow.” There were fingers tapping on wood: a improv drumbeat to music that was barely audible from headphones. Then the most deafening words came: I missed you, I love you, good morning, goodnight, goodbye, I love you, you’re beautiful, breakfast is ready, I love you. There was laughter, and there was some arguing. There was a cry of frustration and a shocked giggle. There was a soft moan, followed by a name whispered in worship. Oh, there were a lot of those: moans, groans, gasps, cries of passion and pleasure. Only the “I love you”s seemed to drown them out.

I closed my eyes and stretched my limbs to their full capacity. Tears leaked from underneath my eyelashes and traveled down my cheeks in warm streams.

“One of these days, I’m going to write a song for you.”

“I’m sure that would go over well with the guys.”

“They wouldn’t know. It’s not like I’d be lame enough to mention you by name.”

“I don’t need a song. Because if I had one, I’d want to sing it. And then it would ruin said song. Besides. If you wrote a song for me, Zared would have to sing it. And I don’t want Zared singing about me. Ever.”

“You have a point. But maybe I’ll just write a song and sing it myself.”

“You hate to sing.”

“And I can’t sing anyway.”

“Oh, yes you can. You’re no Aretha Franklin, but you can carry a tune. And I’d love it no matter how horrible of a singer you are.” I dig my face into his neck.

“I highly doubt that. If you ever sang me a song, I think I might actually end up hating you.”

He chuckles as I hit him.

When I opened my eyes, I saw him standing at the foot of the bed. He was dressed in his ragged jeans and his mucus-colored sweatshirt, dreads rattier than usual in the heat that drifted in through the window, his hands tucked deep in his pockets. But I didn’t care, because it was his face I was looking at. It was back to how it used to be before everything happened to us, light and carefree and smiling. There were no bags under his eyes, no sallow skin stretched over cheekbones, no dark glares or thinned lips. It was like this all never happened. I actually smiled and sat up, stretching my arms out for him.

“Baby,” I whimpered. “I need you.”

He just tilted his head and stared at me, his smile melting away to reveal a forlorn stare. He didn’t look really sad. Just a little. Like he got a paper cut or was late to work. Nothing to worry about. Nothing I couldn’t cure with an embrace and a kiss.

I tried to touch him, but my hand ran through him like mist, and the look in his eyes morphed into pain.

“No,” I cried, tears returning. “Peaches, please.”

He opened his mouth, and from it came horrific words: “I never loved you.”

I woke up with a start, my eyes shooting open to stare at the ceiling.

It was a dream.

I curled up, shoving my head deep into my pillow, and cried for real.

*****

It was Essie who forced me out of bed.

Eddie wanted to stay curled up in that bed, clutching his legs to his chest. He wanted to keep believing this was all some horrid nightmare he could wake up from.

It was Essie that came striding into that room. She clapped her hands, pointed a pink-tipped nail at him, and said, “Darling, you are getting up and putting yourself together. The world’s gonna keep turning, and you better be a part of it, or my Mary Jane is going straight up your ass.”

Essie wouldn’t lie here and mope. She’d get up and pretend nothing was wrong.

So that was what I did. I didn’t even look at my make-up or my drag outfits. I didn’t want to see them. They made me feel sick. But I did manage to get dressed, brush my teeth, and pour some cereal for myself. I found that if I just didn’t think at all, I could walk without crumpling to the floor in a heap of despair.

I hadn’t talked to Dot since she dropped me off to talk to Peaches yesterday. I was supposed to call her to pick me up, but I ended up taking the bus because I couldn’t handle looking at her. I grabbed my phone and saw that I had nine unread messages. They were all varieties of Call me. I’m worried.

I had Dot. I would always have Dot.

I knew Mitchell would be at work today, which was the only reason I decided to take the bus to his house. Dot would hopefully be there. If she wasn’t, I’d wait until she was. But she never went anywhere without me or Mitchell, so I was pretty sure she’d be watching afternoon talk shows or something on his big screen TV.

Don’t think, don’t think, I thought to myself as I stepped along the sidewalk to Mitchell’s condo. I finally reached it, and hesitated before ringing the doorbell. Could I handle Dot now? She’d want to ask questions. She’d want to know the answers. I didn’t know the questions, and I sure as hell didn’t know the answers. I just knew something awful had happened yesterday, and that I could barely see straight as a result.

I sighed and rang the doorbell.

I heard foosteps, and then the door was yanked open. I had a moment to recognize Dot in the doorway before she jumped forward and hugged me.

“Come in,” she ordered, pulling away quickly and standing aside.

I did so.

“Do you want something to drink? To eat?”

I shook my head.

“Come sit down, hon,” she murmured, putting a hand on my back and guiding me to the couch in the living room. I sat down on the very edge of the cushion, grasping my knees with my hands, looking around nervously. I shouldn’t have come here. This wasn’t my home. I didn’t feel welcome here. But I didn’t want to go back to my apartment. That place was haunted. And The Smoke was tainted as well by ghosts. Not so many, but they still lingered. Where could I go where he hadn’t left his imprint? I had no private place that he hadn’t shared with me.

“Essie?” Dot whispered, trying to catch my gaze as she sat down beside me. When I didn’t look at her, she gently took my chin in her hand and turned my face to hers. Her eyebrows shot up in distress and her eyes widened. “Honey?”
Tears threatened, but I swallowed them. Essie did not cry. Neither did Eddie. We put on that smile for others’ benefits. Nothing is wrong, Eddie and Essie told people. We cared about the problems of others when we had our own we hadn’t dealt with.

Smile, I ordered myself. Goddamnit, you pathetic fuck. Smile. Nothing is wrong. Repeat it to yourself.

I tried. I really did. I wanted to be the perky Eddie everyone loved, the one who had no sense of personal boundaries and hugged people because he could. I needed everyone’s love now, so I had to do what it took to get it.

My mouth twitched. The smile pained my face, and it was a fragile, poor replica of what usually came so naturally. Dot could spot even a good fake. She had no trouble seeing through this bad fake.

“It went badly,” she murmured, petting my arm soothingly. “Oh, honey.”

Dot wasn’t much into honey’s, but I liked hearing it. I loved hearing it. I loved it so much that my infrastructure collapsed and I swallowed up Dot in a desperate hug. I held her as close as I could, shoving my nose into her neck and sniffing loudly, trying to keep tears at bay. Dot held me tightly, running one hand over my hair and using the other to make circles between my shoulder blades. She kissed what part of my head she could reach, which seemed to be the hair an inch back from my ear.

I really fell apart. This wasn’t a thread unraveling here and there. This was the fabric simply disintegrating, leaving nothing but a residue behind. My bones turned to rubber and the only thing keeping me from collapse were Dot’s arms. My eyes produced at least a gallon of tears, and my nose produced at least twice as much snot. I’m sure I was a pretty picture, and Dot would probably have to wash this shirt three times to get it clean again.

This had only happened once to me before, with Anwar. But Anwar had just left. We hadn’t fought. He had to go take care of his mother, and I understood that. We parted on good terms, much like how Miguel left Dot. I didn’t blame myself for the dissolution of the relationship. I didn’t blame the other guy. It was just how it had to be, and I could accept it.

To explain how I felt would take a year. I guess I didn’t need to explain. It was all pretty self-explanatory. I gave everything I had to one person. He threw it on the ground and stepped on it. Cue emotional breakdown.

By the time I had cried myself out, Dot and I were lying across the couch side by side, still clinging to each other. My head was shoved underneath hers now, my arms around her waist, my face pressed against the skin her V-necked T-shirt left bare. I couldn’t recall a time I ever really appreciated female anatomy, but I will admit that Dot was softer than any man I’d ever slept on. It was kind of nice, I guess, if I ignored the fact that my neck was pressed between her boobs. Then again, they provided a good cushion too, if I again ignored the fact they were boobs.

Dot was still petting my hair, her cheek pressed against the top of my head. She never did ask me those questions or demand those answers. I suppose she knew. Who wouldn’t? I’d spent a half an hour snotting all over her shoulder. She had to be an idiot not to know the verdict.

Dot sniffed. She’d been crying a little too, and I didn’t know why. Maybe it was because she had such faith in Peaches’s relationship with me. To her, our relationship was “perfect”. Now that it wasn’t, she had to face reality. Or maybe it was because she hated seeing me like this. I know I hated seeing her sad. I’m sure I looked like a train wreck. It probaby wasn’t easy to see me so distraught.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered when she noticed my sobbing was subdued.

I shook my head and dug my nose deeper into her neck.

“Okay, hon.”

“Dot?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry about your shirt.” I lifted my head a little and looked down at the huge wet spot on her shirt. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” she whispered.

Tears jumped to my eyes again. “I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Of course you didn’t. It’s fine, sweetie.”

“I can—I promise not to—”

“Shh.” She started petting my hair again, pressing my face against her neck. “It’s okay.”

I clutched her tight. Thank God I had Dot. She always said I was an awesome friend, the best a girl could have, but she didn’t give herself any credit. Dot was always there for me when I needed her. Sure, sometimes she got a little angry and set hurtful things, but she never meant any of it, and two hours later she was at my doorstep, begging for forgiveness. We were the kind of friends that no matter what we said or didn’t say to each other, we were totally comfortable.

“Dot?” I whimpered after a silent five minutes.

“Yes?”

I clenched my eyes shut. “I love you.”

She squeezed me tightly. “I love you too.”

End of Part II

Author’s Note: Of all the relationships in this story, I envy Dot and Eddie’s the most. I think I would do anything for a friend like that. T_T

NO, this is not the END, people. Geez, that would be horrible of me, wouldn’t it? There will be a Part 3 (because I’m a bitch and like to have never-ending stories), and though it probably seems like a horrible place to start another book, it was the best place I could find. I didn’t plan on a Part 3, but Part 2 got SO LONG. So yeah, 3 parts. YAY! If anyone follows me to the next one, I will love you forever and ever and I PROMISE Confessions will end eventually, just not now. XD

Okay, before anyone says “Waaaa, I’m not going to keep reading if Essie and Peaches stay like this!” I’m going to let you know that it gets better for them, I promise. So all you PeachesXEssie lovers out there, don’t worry. I love them just as much as you do. * nods* And for everyone who is all like “owafnwbriiodfkkghagfhPeaches you fucker! What is your problem?!”, I totally understand. But give him time. He will come around.

I hate sad Essie. T_T

BOOK THREE IS UP! --www. fictionpress . com/ s/2736415/1/