Chapter 1 - In my bubble
You know I'm happy…that you're happy. I really am.
It suits you. Some people just you know, shine, dazzle, vibrates, whatever, when they're happy. At least more then others do. So it suits you. I mean, you look good. Your smiles aren't toothpaste-commercial worthy, they're a bit crooked and you should brush them more often but they make it impossible not to smile back and warmth spreads somewhere in my stomach.
I would never say it to you, some things you just don't tell people, it would be too weird and gay.
And like, I don't know…I don't tell you how pretty much everything makes me depressed. You don't talk about stuff like that. It would be too awkward or pathetic. We don't talk about stuff like that. But if we did, I would say something about how sometimes everything feels…I don't know…disgusting.
That I feel disgusting.
My hands, my feet, my nose, my guts, me.
The world feel disgusting, the people disgust me…everything.
Why do people even try?
Try to make the world less shitty. Trying with food, toys, make up, cars, sex, love, TV, silicon boobs.
It won't change the world, maybe it will censure all the shit vaguely for awhile but it won't stay hidden forever.
Then again, maybe people just are braver then me.
And that's why they don't complain. They just keep on trying and maybe they don't feel disgusting. Maybe I watched all the wrong shows on the telly while growing up and everyone else the right ones? The ones that told you how the world works. TV says stuff like that. I think. At least some of it.
I'm a hypocrite.
Because even thought I know I'm disgusting and think that everyone that tries to make it less disgusting are stupid, I want to do it too.
I have always been waiting for that kind of world you watched on children's programs, like a magical land inside a tree where ducks could talk, I watched a lot of TV when I was a child and it took me a while to understand that it wasn't going to happen.
But I still want a fantasy world, with frosty cakes and ice skating and you.
I want to be with you. You know, not like now. I mean I want to be with you.
I don't want to feel disgusting. You're the only one that isn't disgusting. I don't know why. Maybe it's in your genes. Non disgusting DNA.
But then even if I would be with you. Not like now, but how I want to be with you, I don't think that my sickness would disappear that easily.
Because I think it's a incurable disease that grows inside you, until someday it will have taken the complete control of your body and you just, disappear, implode into nothing and all that is left is all the stuff that is the most disgusting. I know it because of the fact that it's a stupid, shitty world with stupid, shitty people and there aren't any real happy endings, there aren't even any endings. Everything just keeps going.
But I'm happy that you're happy.
That you've found someone that fills you with the belief that the world isn't that shitty.
But that doesn't mean that I will stand it.
It doesn't mean that I will give you your perfect sitcom life while not getting it myself. I'm selfish like that. Maybe it's because of I'm a teenager. A slave to my generation or something like that. There was some documentary in school that said we were becoming more individual, more selfish. Whatever they meant with that. I don't really care. That stuff about only wanting the person you like to be happy is stupid.
So fuck your smiles that make you shine, dazzle, vibrate, I will do this because I don't want to do this anymore and maybe also because hope don't disappear that easily from your mind, so I'm trying to get my cakes and ice-skating and you.
Even thought it's a slim chance of getting it.
But just before I do it, I must ask, are we best friends? I mean we don't hang out as much as before. You have other friends. I have other friends. We're not the perfect fit anymore. We're the same but at the same time completely different. We don't talk every day and we don't have so much to talk about.
Is that best friends?
We used to say it. But can you still use that expression when you're sixteen? Do you still say it when you talk about me?
I won't ask you. I don't know how to.
Because it's a stupid world with stupid people and stupid problems we're probably not, just because.
I don't say it when I talk about you, but I think it.
Technically, sheis your best friend now. You act like it.
I hate everything about her. I hate how you tell her everything; I hate how her smile is natural and genuine. I hate that she makes you laugh. I hate her because you're hers.
I'm going to ruin everything.
It would almost feel nice if our relationship were already beginning to fall apart. Then this wouldn't be the only reason why everything will be ruined.
You have stopped talking now because of…I don't know. Maybe I'm giving out some kind of special vibe. The – gonna fuck stuff up real bad right now! kind of vibe.
I lift myself up with the help of my hands and move closer so that you have to press yourself against the arm support to the couch. So close that our hips and legs are pressing against each other and I can feel the warmth of your body through our jeans.
You don't say anything. Just look at me weirdly. Eyebrows saying, "okay?"
She's not here at the moment. But I don't know how long I got before you figure out what's happening and she comes back. She never leaves you alone you never leave her alone either.
It's too silent.
Makes everything more awkward. The clock on the piano has stopped so there aren't any ticking sound as it usually is and the TV is off.
The only thing that you can hear is our breathing. Mostly my breathing.
I'm kind of hyperventilating. As if I have forgotten how to breathe.
Because it feels as if the world is going to end and there's something in my throat that wants to make me throw up and your lips are really girly and sometimes I find myself staring at them like I'm a retard.
What am I doing?
You're probably thinking that I'm horsing around or something.
That's why you have that suspicious look on your face.
Maybe I should do that.
Turn it into a joke.
I put my left arm on the top of the back of the sofa, behind you.
You look strangely at the arm behind you and then back at me.
I don't have any technique. Not with you.
"Tom what you…"
So I just close my eyes and then, before you react and ruin everything I press my lips against yours, hard and fast. Throwing my body against yours so that you're bent over the arm support awkwardly. It's not really a nice kiss. Our nose bumped into each other and your lips are tightly pressed together. You're so shocked that you don't even react. It's like you're paralyzed, so I take the opportunity to be selfish.
I close my fingers around blond locks and I press you even harder against me. Your lips are soft and dry and it doesn't really feel like a kiss but as if I'm jumping from a swing like when I was a kid but never land, just keeps falling.
I should thinking about the second when we stop, what you will do and the consequences, but instead I just shove down my hand down your lose jeans.
It's like you have been electrified.
All of a sudden with a strangled gurgling sound you explode. Hands and legs pushing me away with all it's strength. Hit me away.
I never closed my eyes.
Neither did you.
Your blue eyes are almost comically wide. You look kind of stupid. I like that.
Most of the time you just look so smug, as if you're the one with all the answers.
You're kind of trembling. As you always do when you get angry or don't know what to do.
Your lips are still girly and still pressed together.
Your face is flushed.
Maybe this is the perfect way to end a friendship.
Because I noticed that people are still reading this :P I had to edit this story a bit. I wrote it when I was thirteen/fourteen and it is so painfully bad in every way. Millions of spelling and grammar faults too because I haven't used a beta for my edited chapter and I pretty much suck at writing in english.