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Cold ceiling. The cold ceiling greeted me when my eyes, unfortunately, opened once more. My blanket was on the floor, must've been a restless night. Typical. Makes sense. Nothing new. That ceiling was my only company for a long time. It was the only “real” company I had. The only thing I didn't have to spend energy existing around.
It's a shame ceilings don't fix things. They don't even acknowledge you.
Mephistopheles was moving again. I had downtime. Ah. Downtime. The worst part of the job. When nothing needed doing. At HQ I could at least hide my feelings in an assorted array of snacks and treats. That was harder on a moving vehicle. Gregor was back, happier, too. Something good happened. Probably. Doesn't matter that much, I'd just bring him down again. So. In my room I stay. Again. Just like last time. And the time before that.
It's like a cruel fucking joke. Some days are fine and I fit in. I feel like part of the group. I have friends that I would trust with my life. And then for some reason. Some days it just. Doesn't compute. And it's a little unfair. Why do I have to try? And, why is it, that when I try, things either get worse, measurably. Or it eventually blows up in my face. Getting Greg to care only made it worse for him when he came back to. He seems fine now but he's right, it's only a matter of time before it happens again and at that point what's gonna happen? If we can't bring him back what the fuck am I gonna do? He's the only one I'm able to open up to like I do. Even if it's not enough.
When I want to talk to him, like right now. It's like the words get stuck in my throat. And I choke on them until I'm face down in my pillow, crying, begging for something about Dante's contract to fail so I can finally just. Stop. It's an empty hope. It's a pointless dream. None of the others got that luxury and everything they've dealt with is far worse than any shit I've had to put up with. Better yet they didn't even cause their own misery, yet everything about how I'm fucked in the head is always going to be my fault.
Nobody abandoned me.
Nobody broke me.
I got it in my head that I knew better and I just. Threw everything away. I keep throwing it away. I don't know how to stand out in any way other than making people feel bad for me. Being myself just means I'm a boring sad sack of shit that nobody wants to be around.
I think.
I don't know anymore.
I should call Greg in here. I miss him.
But getting up sounds painful.
It always sounds painful, why is today different?
It's not, really. But I'm not needed. I don't have anything to get up for.
Ugh. FUCK. What's wrong with me? Nobody “needs” me. What's the worst that can happen? Ryoshu has that fancy sword that's trying to help her get her memories back, so the drawback's not so big anymore. Don's gonna lose her mind one way or another. Shit maybe Greg's gonna bug out again. But they can manage that. We had Verg there when we had to deal with Greg. They don't need me now.
“Young Rodya! Thou art needed, Young Manager Esquire requested your company!”
Oh God why her. Why did it have to be little miss “I don’t have an off button”? Was everyone else really that busy? Seriously? And why did Dante send someone to get me?
“Can you tell them to come here, Chiquita? I'm a little busy.”
I can't let her know somethings wrong, she won't fuck off. But God, that voice makes me feel sick to my stomach right now. That one. The airy one that tells everyone that I'm not falling apart right now. Even if it's a lie.
“Negative! They said it is a matter most urgent!”
There it is. That feeling. The cage inside my chest strangling my lungs. Making it hard to breathe. If she doesn't go, now. I am going to fucking. Explode. I can't do this today. Please, stop.
“I really can't right now, can you please ask them to either wait, or come here?”
If she doesn't get the hint it's going to be bad. I can only hope that there's not another sinner around. I'd hate for them to see this.
“Young Rodya I feel you may need to tell them yourself.”
And, like that, words rising out of my throat like venom from a snake.
“Not even gonna fucking try, Don? Not even gonna pretend to give a damn?”
For once, the little fixer shut up. But, like always, I didn't stop there.
“I'm having a hard enough time trying to get out of bed, and yet you, Miss Sunshine and Rainbows and fucking- Fairy shit. Isn't getting the hint. When I say I'm fucking busy maybe that means something. Not that you'd get the hint.”
The stream of malice kept running. Even stopping my breaths. It's only just started and already my face feels hot, my eyes stinging. The usual symptoms that I try to hide to myself. It's been a long time since I've let it out on someone like this.
“When have you ever gotten the hint? You're literally incapable of listening to anything but yourself talk. It's really no wonder that everyone thinks you're an annoying little runt. You don't know how to shut up. The day the Great Don Quixote listens to someone else's plight and not her own fantasy daydream stories of awe and might is the day that the City actually gives something worth believing in to the people that live in this god forsaken hell hole.”
I don't know what her hobbies have to do with this, right now. Her rants are entertaining. They help give something to look forward to on the boring days. Why am I insulting her?
“Maybe if Dante needed me so badly they would have come themself to check on me. Maybe they would have asked to make sure I'm okay first. Maybe they thought it wouldn't be a big deal, a complication. Something they could actually send miss fuck-up fixer to do. Because maybe they had some kind of hope that she'd actually do what she was asked for once.”
I don't even know what I'm saying. I can't tell anymore. She doesn't deserve this. She's doing her best. I hope she left. I don't want her to hear this. I like having her around. I know we all do. Why do I always do this? Why do I have to lash out? Why do I have to have this broken record of a brain?
The door opened, hushed sounds came from outside the door, a crowd had gathered. Gregor waved them off as he entered.
“Hey.”
He sat next to me, reaching for the hand that was clutching my face, trying to force my mouth closed to stop the waterfall of vitriol spewing from my mouth.
“I'm here.”
He was, at the same time, both the last person I wanted here, and the person I knew I needed to have here. As soon as I saw him, I stopped talking. Even though I heard the voices outside.
“Ignore them, Rodya. We can deal with them later. Right now. Focus on me.”
You don't know how hard it is to focus on you. I know they're there. I know they're listening. I don't know when they got there. I can practically hear Sinclair shaking in his boots.
“Bad day?”
It's always a bad day. When is it ever not a bad day. I only know bad days. My life is completely miserable, I don't get to have good days. But still, I nodded.
“Dante wanted to call you back for a routine check-up. In their office.”
Why couldn't Don have just said that? Would I have listened? Probably not. Her voice felt like it was putting my head through a pencil sharpener.
“They decided today wouldn't be ideal. And, will see you when you feel up to it next.”
Oh, jeez I wonder what could have possibly happened. Thanks, captain obvious. It's not like the crowd outside told me that everyone heard what I did.
“Talk to me, hun. What's wrong?”
I can't talk. I never can. The words don't come out. If I try to force them out. This is the result.
As a result of my continued silence, he wrapped his arm around my shoulders, realizing it'd be a while before I trusted myself to open my mouth again. So he kept speaking. His fingers finding entertainment in my hair.
“I'm sorry, Rodya.”
You didn't do anything. You don't ever do anything. Why are you apologizing to me, I'm the mess.
“If you need to let something out, I'm gonna be right here. I know you don't mean it. Don knows you don't mean it. Everyone does.”
Yeah right, they're all whispering out there, leaned on the door.
“They're concerned, you've never lashed out like this. When you're not around, I hear some of them talking about you.”
What a surprise. Honestly. Who would have seen that one coming. The laughing stock broken one that is worse at everything than everyone. Of course I'm a conversation starter.
“We're all worried about you. We've all noticed. You're hiding more. Your mask is slipping more often. You're deeply wounded on the inside, and, the few moments of clarity you show, tell all of us that you need help.”
Why would anybody offer to help, they're all so much worse than me. I'd be taking advantage of their kindness.
“I care. You have some kind of magic way with words that makes me feel like I'm incapable of the harm that I'm so very scared of. Let me in. Let me help.”
I can't. It's like ice. Waist deep ice that keeps me pinned, while the windchill chokes me out and freezes my heart solid. I can't open up.
And then, as if he read my thoughts.
“You just did, I mean. You lashed out at Don for trying to get your attention. Showing that you have bad days for very deep seated reasons that haven't even begun seeing the light of day. Let us help. Like you help us.”
He adjusted himself to meet my eyes.
“Let me help. The rest of us be damned. Let me in.”
And, once more, my face betrayed me. Tears streamed down like a broken dam, years of masking being, quite honestly, ripped off.
“I don't care who you think you are. You've shown me enough to know that you're not a bad person. You're broken. Circumstances pushed you to become who you think you are. But that goes for all of us. I mean, look at me.”
He raised his bug arm, emphasizing the murderous freak he's afraid to become.
“We are on this bus to forgive ourselves and mend our pasts. And we want you here with us at the finish line. I want you at the finish line.”
Finally, my vocal chords found their freedom.
“But it hurts…”
“I know, believe me, Rodya. I know.”
I buried my face into his chest, my muscles easing up as I let him fully embrace me and my mess.
“Can… you stay here, Greg? For a while?”
“I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else. Just give me a minute.”
He stood and walked back up to the door, and for a minute, my heart sank, believing his words to be an illusory comfort. Just like the food and money I'd tried so hard to immerse myself in. A fictitious band aid over the bleeding heart that I tore asunder with my own hands.
But instead. He opened the door, and, louder than I'd ever heard him before.
“Can you all go away?! She'll be out when she's able to talk for herself. Don, give us a couple hours and she'll be with you. The rest of you, the concern is appreciated, but it's stifling.”
He shut the door, and seven sets of footsteps found themselves occupied once more. Leaving me in peace with the warmth I'd long denied myself.
My voice broke, but it let me speak.
“Who all was out there?”
“Oh, you know uh… Ish, Heath, Sinclair, Don, Manager bud. The usual characters.”
“Don was out there?”
“I told you she was worried about you. She's a lot smarter than we give her credit for. We need to fix that, all of us.”
“Yeah…”
“But let's worry about that later, come here.”
He sat next to me again, the last thing I remember is the gentle bristle of his chin tucked against my neck before I drifted off to sleep again, consumed by the very thing I ran from for so long. Comfort.