Thursday, two days left until Trish was coming here. I had a busy schedule now; having a deadline did put my life into perspective again. I get back to finishing my oatmeal, thoughts drifting off on how to spend my day to make sure I wasn't too big a mess before she arrived. Breakfast dishes are put away, then I get on with my day. I dared not look into the mirror yet, so I confined myself to getting the last of my stuff in order before I had to face the mirror's truth. I was approaching the end of my packet of cigs, I realized, as I stood on the balcony without really remembering heading out here and lighting one up. I'd go shopping tomorrow, so I'll save one cig for tonight and one for the coming morning. Facing reality, I extinguish the deathstick in the improvised ashtray and head inside. The box needed to be cleansed. I'd chucked it into the wardrobe, but there was too much stuff in that cardboard coffin to just leave it be. Cutting open the taped over flaps with the edge of a key before I rip it open to be greeted with the Sailor Venus plushie that Stella had given me, it had been my slumber companion for a while now. My stomach churned, my heart sank. The box could definitely wait; pushing it back into the wardrobe before throwing some linens on top of it to cover it up. Hopefully I'd be able to open it up and cherish the good times some day, but it was not today. It still ached. Just the thought of getting hurt that way again, getting close to someone, putting myself in that vulnerable spot was enough to send me off into panic again. Pause. Breathe deep. Refocus. This apartment is real. The muffled sound of city life outside my apartment was real. The empty rooms threatening to swallow me whole were real. The bed made for two was daunting. I curl up into a ball, pulling up my legs and holding myself tight. Wagging side to side on the floor of the bedroom. Existing hurts. Memories crash into me like birds smattering against the windshield of a shitbox traveling down a highway at full speed with no brakes. I just had to weather it out, again. Then again tomorrow. Then the day after that. Then the rest of this month. Fuck it, I had a day for chores tomorrow as well, so I pull myself together enough to head into the bathroom and take two strong antianxiety pills, washing them down with a mouthful of water from the tap. The face in the mirror looks pained, covered in an unkept beard and with wild stare. I close my eyes, gripping the sink. Stella dances in front of me, I see her moving her body to the cheerful poppy weeb music she loves to play, I hear the dampened noise of the dramas she'd keep on in the background, I smell her cooking. I see her smiling back at me in the mirror. Had we been dating? Fucked if I know, I only knew there had been something between us - but that was all gone now. It's sickening to hate someone this much while still not being able to stop loving them. I head for the couch, not even pondering the thought of sleeping in an empty bed. I turn on the TV, but I can't focus on anything. There's news, then a movie, then a talk show, then I tune out completely and fade out of existence completely. One last vision of her, then the meds whisk me away into a dreamless sleep. It's late when I wake up, everything is dark and the sounds outside have dissipated. The TV must have turned itself off, the only thing left illuminating the room is the faint orange glow from the streetlights outside. My body is heavy, my mind is foggy, but I don't feel as bad anymore; things have become more manageable now. Spontaneously, I throw my jacket on and slip on my shoes to head out. The solitude of the sleeping city was comforting and taking a walk would be a good opportunity to work through whatever it was that had been brewing inside me yesterday. One foot in front of the other. The neon lights of the city pass me by. I see the midnight jogger from yesterday running past, so I smile, nod, and give a small wave to remove the tension of seeing a wild caveman prowling the streets at midnight. The triceratops nods back, headphone wire bobbing rhythmically over her chest as she jogs past while saluting me with a nod and a small smile. It felt nice to have someone acknowledge my existence. My feet keep pulling me forward, I put in some headphones to drown out my thoughts, then I just walk. Not really sure for how long I let the music carry me forward. My second to last smoke fills me with a calming rush of nicotine. She had been coming on to me, but I wasn't ready - I had been perpetually stuck in High School with the same issues I had back then. I felt older now though, old as shit, and meeting Lucy felt like years ago. When was the last time I talked to someone in person, really talked, heart to heart? Did I have anyone I could open up to, now? It had been Stella and Rosa for a while, but that wasn't on the table any more. The loneliness felt like a solid block of blackness encasing me. Parents had disowned me, my friends had betrayed me, my highschool sweetheart had a family and didn't want to hear from me ever again, my whatever it was that Stella had been was gone. Should I call up some old friends from the Navy? I hadn't spoken to them in years either, plus they weren't really the touchy feely talky types. Then I'm standing in front of Volcano High, once more. It's just a building. Empty, dark, fresh paint job and a new logo - but sure as shit it's good ol' Volcano High. Was this what they called exposure therapy; to be reliving everything that had fucked you up? I'd gotten away with it for so long, too. I had skipped the reunion, I had avoided any and all events that took place nearby, I had not come here since graduation at all. Yet here I stood, ready to accept my fate. The dread was prowling on me, just out of focus but I could feel it stalking. Time, Mister Mous. Is it really that time, again? Naomi, Naser, Fang, Trish, Reed, Stella, Rosa, Spears, and everyone else. I swear that I have changed since then, I am a better man, and I won't make the same mistakes. I am so very, very, very sorry. I didn't mean to disappoint you like this. I sit down on the stairs, head in my hands, thoughts rushing through my head. They're so loud that they start to drown out the music. I need to get home before I fall apart completely, so I call for a cab. The voice on the phone says that they will be here in five minutes or so. Pause. Breathe deep. The night air was cool, the wind gently rustling the leaves of the trees surrounding the school. Maybe I should take a peek at the garden while I'm already here, see if Rosa's legacy has been preserved. Getting up, taking the stairs, remembering falling down them all after the doxxing. Did Trish even remember all that? The fond memory of being taken care of by Fang, cuddling up with them... This garden played a big part, but it has changed. Concrete walkways, brutalist sculptures, and hostile architecture had killed the once soulful sprawling rose garden. Rosa and Spears would never have allowed this; we might be the last people sharing good memories of how beautiful this place once was. My phone buzzes to life, a call. I pick up and a raspy voice says that they've arrived down by the main entrance. I walk back and down the steps, waving to the car as I come closer. A grimy taxi, driven by a yellow velociraptor pulls up to the curb. Getting in, he shifts in his seat, looking back at me: "So kid, where's you headin'?" "Triassic Avenue 12A." "Long way from home, ain't you?", he turns back and steps on the gas. The taxi drives off into the night, he turns up the stereo and a midnight radio host starts blasting some old rock tunes from the blown speakers. I muster a response: "Yeah." "Not much for talkin'? I'll leave you be if you want a calm ride." Streetlights flash by as we head through Volcadera. I let the question hang as the radio fills the void. Well, he asked: "Rough night, so I took a long walk." "Hell, you walked all this way in the dead of night? Must have been one rough night." "Yeah.", hopefully he got the hint from my short answers. I really wanted some peace and quiet. The driver adjusts the rear view mirror, then I see his yellow eyes seeking mine in the reflection. "I've had a couple a’ rough rides to and from that school during my years.", he pauses seeking affirmation, so I meet his eyes and nod, "But I'd remember your face anywhere, not many skinnies around these parts." "Last time was a long time ago." "You've changed, since, kid. There's something in your eyes I didn't see back then." I sat up straight, what did he mean? He continues once he notices that he's got my attention: "There's fire, kid. There's something resolute hiding in you. You don't look like a lost lamb no more." Was I that different? The driver turns down the music, brakes for a stoplight, then continues: "Yearn not for good times, yearn for the strength to persevere through the tough ones. My old man used to say that to me, when I was down in the dumps." He taps rhythmically against the steering wheel. The interior of the car is painted crimson by the stoplight. He splays his arms out dramatically, before exclaiming: "Live when you're young, kid. Don't think about it too much.", he puts his hands back on the wheel just as the light turns green and takes off, "A man's lot is to take hard decisions, and to take responsibility for them." A razor sharp stare pierces me as he locks eyes with me in the rear view mirror once again and speaks: "So you better take responsibility." The rest of the drive we spend in silence, I take the time to consider my plan of action and reflect on his words. Before I know it, we're outside my apartment building. I ask how much I owe him, but he laughs bitterly before he says: "Kid, you'll pay but it ain't to me. You've got your debts to settle - now THAT is what you owe me." I get out and just as I shut the car door he speeds off. With his words still ringing in my ears, I head inside, kick off my shoes, and start to really feel the emotional impact of tonight. I ponder texting Trish, but what could I even say to her right now? It'd be better to just talk it out when we meet. I occupy myself with preparing a pot of coffee for the morning: pouring in water, putting in a filter, measuring the grounds. It is a comforting ritual, an indication of life slowly returning to normal. The cab drivers laugh lingers in my mind. Then I go to lie down and swiftly doze off on the couch. The alarm wakes me at seven. Morning brings with it new responsibilities, so I get up from the couch, turn on the pot of coffee, put the oatmeal in the microwave and turn on the radio. I still have an hour or so before I have to be fully alive again, I get to spend this time simply enjoying the peace and quiet of a morning alone, without anxiety eating me alive. It's a beautiful day outside, sunny and warm. The small park is filled with flowers, hedges and figure-cut trees tightly packed together in between the gravel paths and fountains. Sitting on the benches are the morning joggers, taking a short break and some water before going back at it once more. I don't envy them, cardio was the worst part of training; long hours of doing little work with slow gains. I'd much rather lift some heavy weights, even if it didn't make the bad thoughts go away at least it made me a bit more confident looking at myself in the mirror when I didn't look like I would have a flying saucer in my backyard. Trish was coming over tomorrow. I could hardly believe it. Ten years apart, or somewhere around there, then we suddenly just make amends and meet. She said she'd been talking to Lucy as well, how much did she know? Had she heard about us making out, about how we both had missed the boat, about how we could never see each other again? The lost time we've wasted chasing ghosts felt like a gaping maw threatening to swallow me whole, pulling me back into the darkness. Ding! My microwave was a lifesaver. Carefully pulling the bowl out to not scald my hands, I add some milk and jam. Put forth a cup, pour in some milk, add coffee as it swirls about in spiraling patterns before blending together into a delicious shade of brown. I open the cabinet with my pills, count them all out, swallow them down with a mouthful of bean-brew. I had a surplus of colorful pills in all shapes and sizes since I hadn't really been taking them when I should have for a two-month period. Oops. That might have been a slight contribution to losing myself in a self-destructive spiral; not much better off than Fang was back in high-school, or than I had been after coming back from the Navy. At least Fang had me to support her back in highschool, in some way. Fuck. I can't think like that, I can't change the path she took after we split. Lucy was her own woman now. Maybe Trish could give some more insight or help take care of Lucy now that they were back in touch. Just maybe I could have that pterodactyl back in my life without us tearing out each others' throats, even if it would probably be months or even years away. If it would ever happen, that is. Sip of coffee, some oatmeal. Bitterness, and sweetness. Pills slowly released the chemicals I needed to function into my bloodstream. What would I even do today, now that I had nothing left to worry about? I had no big event to wait for. No looming shadow forcing me into submission to alcohol. Just me, and a life without any more dreams left to dream. Spoon of oatmeal, a swig of the last coffee in the cup; I pour myself a glass of juice to gain some vitamins, even if I knew it was mostly sugar - about as bad as just having soda for breakfast. It felt good though, spoiling myself with something that was bad for me. A little piece of selfharm, as a treat. The joggers out the window have moved on, people are heading off to work and traffic is building up on the road outside as people are headed into the city proper. What if that would be me one day, heading off with my wife into work with our kid in the back that we drop off at kindergarten before me and my wife share a kiss goodbye as we depart and I head on to my job. Was that what I wanted? I felt something stir in my gut, that wasn't just coffee, when I lived in that fantasy. I felt happy imagining such a future. I wonder how Trish's life has gone, since last we saw each other? Had she gotten her happy ever after? Maybe she knew how Reed had been doing, too? I could check out her Snootstagram now, since I didn't really have the courage to do so yesterday. Opting to send a text would probably be the better option, or I'd most likely just pussy out if I saw how good she has it going from what she told me in our chat. I made a mental note to check it out later, after I had steeled myself enough. I felt a call for the morning cigarette, my last one, before I had to go buy another pack. I knew it lay on the windowsill right by the door to the balcony. It stared at me, enticingly, and I stared back. I felt Rosa's judgemental glare reach out all the way here, piercing me with the threat of la chancla and dropsets creeping into my workouts. I break eye contact with the packet, heartbroken. I might have to move on, it would be for the better of us both, my smokin' babe. I enjoy breathing more than I enjoy a quick fix, plus I didn’t really need it right now - I was feeling alright. I was feeling alright, after all. Oh yeah, a gym membership would be good to have just to be able to get out every now and then. That was something I probably could acquire even in my weakened mindstate. Ape brain like lift heavy and put heavy down, monkey life good if voices quiet. A quick internet search shows me a couple nearby gyms that have one free trial workout. It wouldn't be too bad to at least check one of them out today. Get some air, clear my head, and avoid worrying about tomorrow. See what kind of gear was available: if there were good weights and decent machines. Maybe some suicidal crossfitters to chuckle at. Sip of coffee, spoon of oatmeal. I'd have to get my hands on some more protein too, get my diet together since I had been sustaining myself on microwave dinners and cheap lagers for far too long. Not to mention the shape my lungs were in after laying in bed for two months while smoking a couple of packs per week. My wallet felt lighter, but I probably put on some pounds to compensate and keep the balance of our weight equilibrium tight. No time like the present; finishing up my breakfast, heading into the bathroom to make myself human again. The last two months had not been kind on my looks, I was both scrawny and fat as my mass had moved to my gut and ass. With rhymes like that I'm a fucking world class poet. Either way, with this beard I was either a hobo or a russian philosopher; off it goes. Fairly quick work with the trimmer, a slight stubble was good enough and wouldn't give me a rash. A warm shower helps with recovering my sore body as I let the boiling rain pour down over me; cleaning off the murky memories and bad decisions, steam emptying my very pores of the bad shit I've done. What had I been doing these last two months; I didn't even remember much of it? Just a static blur, slowly tuning in to a more regular life with less drinking and more habits and food and being clothed and going outside sober. It was time to be an adult again and set myself straight. Finishing up in the shower; looking into the mirror I almost look good again, at least when the mirror was all fogged up. My blurry outline reminded me of the man I was when I was still together with Stella and Rosa. Way back then, in a different lifetime. Putting on a normal outfit again, packing some training clothes and the cheap flat bottomed skating-shoes I used for lifting. The triceratops yesterday had set off a domino effect that pulled Trish back into my life through some twist of fate. This is where I can set out on my own path again, from down here at rock bottom I could only go up; I'd start with Trish, take it one step at a time, feel out where I could safely stand without losing myself again. I didn't need a rebound right now, not another complicated relationship to entangle myself in; I needed to feel this pain to understand how I'd remold myself. What would I even cook tomorrow, to appease the veggie muncher? I could make some elaborate salad, or maybe a risotto? Mushroom risotto, with a side salad, and some white wine? That already sounds so good it was making me hungry, Trish would have to settle for it no matter if she wanted to or not; worst case scenario there would be a hefty salad to boot. Shit, I'd need to shop for that too. Stuffing some cloth shopping bags into the sports bag, putting away the dishes, heading out. This neighborhood was a lot nicer than my previous one, the kind of place you'd let your kids play outside unsupervised in, a nice place to raise a family. A family that I might never get to have. The first gym is just a short walk away so there was no need to take the bike, plus it was a good day to be out for a walk. Great for my body too, since I knew there was no chance in hell that I'd be able to get back to my old weights today; rehab was the only thing scheduled for the coming months. I'd been physically worn down both from the coma and then from falling apart into a self-deprecating mess. Looking up, the sun is shining while the few clouds that are out float by on their backdrop of clear blue skies. Putting in my headphones I put on some boomer rock to get pumped and prepare myself for having a proper workout once again and to drown out my thoughts, it felt nice to look forward to something. Both this and Trish were two good things, hopefully, coming back into my life. I fucking hoped Trish wasn't going to be the same malicious bitch she was back then; people change, I had changed for sure. People deserve second chances. There's a faint bell chime when I enter the reception, I take a look around to try and take the place in, bewildered by the confusing layout of changing rooms and labyrinthine corridors sprawling into the building like an eldritch circulatory system when a cute Ichthyosaur clerk welcomes me with a: 'Hello, big guy! Haven't seen you around before, first time?', which absorbs all my willpower as I try to restrain myself from saying 'for you', opting instead for: "Hey! Yeah, newly moved in. Thought about doing that one free trial workout?", with a hint of uncertainty, but when I nod she goes off immediately: "Ooooh, perfect! Yeah, just sign up for our members' club, free of charge, and we'll get you sorted!", she says with an all too cheery voice as she starts digging out some forms for me to fill in. Some inane paperwork later and I'm inside the gym, moving over to the weight racks. Most of the mouth breathers in here are working out in the machines or flexing by the mirrors, so the free weights are thankfully untended to. No crossfitters practicing ritualistic suicide today, thankfully. I get myself set up with a bar and some plates and start to work through my rehab program. I imagine Stella's face in front of me, taunting and sneering from how she'd managed to deceive me for so long. It's empowering, the hatred and fury, keeping me going for far longer than I thought I would manage when I first planned on returning to the gym. The weights fly up and I have to restrain myself from overexerting and hurting myself, an hour later I return to the reception and wave goodbye to the receptionist. She was cute, maybe I should chat her up, see if she's interested? Not too direct since this was her being polite for the job after all, but just a check in. Reality washes back over me, the endorphins from liftan’ were ebbing out. What the fuck, Anon. The last thing you needed at this point was a rebound, on your emotional recovery level you were still barely moving past wearing diapers. A date was the last thing you needed. What you needed was to set up for Saturday and to clean up your apartment. This was a good time to get the groceries so I didn't have to stress tomorrow. I pull out my phone and look up the directions to the closest store from the gym, still a bit uncertain about finding my way in this foreign neighborhood. Right, just down the street, second left, fairly big Spear-Target. My legs ache from the workout, but I push past it and let the lactic acid slowly ebb away as my lungs work their hardest to keep me from keeling over, the smoking really fucked me up; still, I miss taking a cig to reward myself for the small steps of progress I made today, but I persevere in abstaining. A promise I didn't want to think about when or how I'd made it, especially not to whom, makes its way into my head so I push the thought into the nowadays fairly crowded space in the back of my mind. Anon Y. Mous of the future would have to make this right. The store is fairly empty at this time, just me and the odd elderly shopper strolling through the aisles. Mushroom risotto, hope it isn't too fancy; I don't want to give the wrong impression, but still, I wanted to show off a little bit to empathize that I too had grown up. That's what adults did - buy wines, talk fancy flowery talk, and eat overly complicated food while spitting platitudes that don't really mean anything at all. After carrying the groceries home, I treat myself by grabbing a quick lunch out in the park: a meaty sauce dripping sub and a can of soda. It wasn't peak health nut, but it was a helluva lot better than rewarding myself with a smoke break. I'd save that last ciggie for a special occasion; one in the chamber. It doesn't feel as horrifying any longer, the sounds of life and families surrounding me as I sat out in the sun. There was a faint worry that I'd miss it, never get the chance to live the life I wanted before it was too late, but right now there was nothing more I could do than just live in the moment. The sun felt good with the smell of late summer feeling homely and comforting. My break flies by, I head home soon enough to fill in some more job applications - spewing empty sentences about how much I loved to gobble management sausage and fulfill company quotas, as time passes quicker than I'd imagined I look up to realize it had started to get dark outside once again. She'd be here tomorrow. Whiskey would be a good evening companion to share the slight unease with, but if I opened the bottle it wouldn't close until early morning when all the thoughts and feelings had gone away - at least I knew myself that well. There was still a nagging doubt in my mind about what agenda Trish could have behind her decision to come here tomorrow, or to even speak politely to me on Snootstagram after we've been out of each other's lives for so long. It's not like we left off on a good note, we have clashed many times and in the end it got really rough; we both hurt Fang in the crossfire. I don't know if I've even moved past her doxxing me and ridiculing me in front of the entire school yet, it still comes back to me in my dreams to throw me awake in a frantic panic and drenched in sweat. But this was my current reality - she was coming here tomorrow and I would be a nice host and we would catch up like adults. No whiskey for Anon tonight. Right. We would move past it, like nothing had happened. I wake up on the couch, TV still droning in the background. I don't recall turning it on yesterday nor falling asleep fully clothed. The morning routine passes by as normal, I clean up the remnants of my stubble. Freshen up. Iron a shirt, put on some nice summery suit pants to match. I look alright, some would even say I looked good. Then I spend the rest of the morning giving my apartment one last do-over as well as preparing everything for our lunch. I'm just about done when I hear my phone ding, pulling it up I see a message had landed in my Snootsta: "Morning, skinnie! Just wanted to say I'm about to be heading out. Triassic avenue, right?" "Yep. Big gray building, parking out front, you can't miss it.", I pause and consider if I should try and be more welcoming before deciding on following up, "Looking forward to seeing you again!" Dots dance at the bottom, Trish is writing something. Had I made a fool of myself? The dots disappear as she stops, then starts, then stops. Whatever it was that she intended to say was taking consideration: "Same!" I leave it at that, opting to distract myself from the sudden urge to run very far away and instead opt to try unwinding a bit before she arrives. Two futile hours of slight panic and Rockring later, I got a message that she was arriving soon, she'd just gotten to the city limits. Appreciating the break from staring at the screen without really playing, I turn it off and slip out to greet her in the parking lot and catch a few moments of sun before she arrives. Soon enough, her car pulls in on the parking lot: a simple maroon combi. No band stickers, no crazy decals, no flames or neon lights - it seems that the savage trigger had been housebroken. It comes to a stop at the guest spot. I can hear the radio playing faintly from inside, she's still got a surprisingly good taste in music when she isn't playing it out to be artsy and post-ironic. I have a few more seconds to breathe out, take in the situation, and steady myself before we have to say hello in person for the first time since high school. I can't fucking believe it. The sun is blazing, the heat is making the pavement melt and the faint smell of tar is mixed with the fresh slightly spicy scent of my cologne; a bittersweet mix. The ignition turns off, the lights fade, the door opens, and she steps out. I'm in awe at how she looks; curves for days and a long yellow summer dress ending just beneath her knees matched with black sandals and a black handbag hanging off her arm. She takes off her sunglasses and her face breaks out into a huge smile as she shouts out: "Anon! It's been all too long!", throwing her arms out for a hug and grabbing me with such speed and force that I can't even tech my way out of it. Instead I opt to just hug back, taking a deep breath to regain the air her agressive headbutting of my sternum knocked out of me. We let go, and I look at her with a smile, that feels genuine at least for now, and respond: "It's good to see you too, Trish. How have you been holding up? My place is up this way, I'll get us something to drink while we catch up.", taking the lead and moving us toward my apartment building. "I've been holding up.", she pauses, "It's just a bit weird to be back here again." "In Volcadera?" "Mmm. I haven't been here in a long while, ever since Reed left." "Reed left too? I haven't heard anything from him.", as I hold up the door. The hot and humid air of the stairwell hits and I see Trish fanning herself with her hand. "Yeah. He disappeared.", a hint of sadness in her voice. "Disappeared?" "Just faded away, nothing. Haven't heard from him since." The elevator doors open and shut with mechanical thunks, putting a hard stop to her sentence. With a whirr I feel us move up toward the third floor, but there's a sinking feeling in my stomach. Was it a mistake to reconnect? It sure tore down the mood quickly when I asked about Reed. Well, it was only a mistake if I made it into one, so I try and break the ice once more: "I miss him.", and I did, even if I hadn't spent much time thinking about him nor Trish since we graduated they'd still been in the back of my mind, hopefully keeping an eye on Fang. Trish sighs. "I miss him too. You know the weird part?" "No?" "He came knocking on my door, in the middle of the night. I was still up, sitting and watching an episode of Desperado Housewives.", she breathed in, grasping the steel handrail of the elevator hard, "Told me that he was heading out for a trip. That he was glad that we'd been able to spend so much time together lately." Trish looks away from me. This time I know when to shut up, so I let her take her time. The bell dings, and the doors slide open as we arrive at my floor but I just put my foot against the sensor to keep it from closing. After a while, she looks up at me and asks: "Can we take the rest inside? It's been a long drive, it's hot as hell outside and even hotter here in the stairwell, I want to sit down for a while and cool off." "Sounds good to me.", and I reach out my hand toward her, which she seems to gladly take and with a gentle tug she's back on her feet and we stride off to my door. A faint 'oooo' from Trish as I open up to show my new place reassures me that I've managed to make it somehow presentable with the work I put in these last days, and we slip out of our shoes as I head in to fetch us some cold citrus water. Triceratopses liked citrus, right? Either way I fill up our glasses and put the beaker on the kitchen bar before I hand over hers, do or die. I had the plastic tarp ready in case I'd get gored in the coming hour or so, complete with a tape of Dewey Louise and the Noose. Trish breaks the silence with a question after she's taken a swig: "So, how long has it been since you moved in? Thanks for the drink, by the way." "Ah, I got here wednesday." "Oh, so you've only been here one and a half weeks?" "Uhhh...", taking a sip of cold lemon water, "No, three days ago." This prompts a faint whistle from the purple dino, who lets her eyes wander over my abode. Thankfully all my weeb stuff was still stowed away or I was sure to have gotten a reprimand for it. Anything Stella related had been stuffed into the deepest recesses of the wardrobe. I take a seat at the kitchen bar, and Trish follows suit before continuing her questioning: "You've made yourself at home quite quickly, it took me a few months to get settled in when I moved last time." "Yeah, you get used to it when you've done it a few times." "So what made you move here?" Stella did. But I instead say: "Nothing did. I just felt like...", grinding my teeth, this was the one question I didn't want to answer right off the bat, "I needed a bigger place for myself and-" I broke myself off before finishing the sentence, this was the worst opportunity possible for a Freudian slip. Trish smirks, the same cocksure grin that she'd been sporting way back in high school, before pushing the question further: "You and whooo? You got yourself something steady? Anon Y. Mous himself, getting serious?", she leans back triumphantly, "I know for sure this town isn't big enough to have a bunch of small Mous-lings running about." Fuck, not today, not again. Trish pursues relentlessly: "I never would have imagined a skinnie like you actually finding someone that could stand you!", there's a teasing tone in her voice but the underlying venom still stings. I knew I had been too optimistic; Trish was still Trish. I hated this part of her. Yet I push back: "I needed some space after a breakup, Trish." It hurts to put the words out there, to show myself vulnerable. Her smile disappears quickly as she backpedals, flashing through an array of emotions before settling on a slightly somber one as she responds: "I'm sorry, I didn't know." "Don't worry, it is what it is." "Does this have anything to do with…", and she eyes me carefully, "Stella?" It had everything to do with Stella, but how the fuck could Trish have guessed that? The shock hits me, dumbfounding me, but I push past and try to downplay it: "Yup.", I say with the confidence and nonchalance of a first-time chainsaw juggler. Ice cool. Still, Trish is relentless: "So you two were quite serious?" She knew? This was hurting to bring up, but she seemed genuinely worried. I'll try to be upright, an honest question deserves an honest answer: "No, but yeah… Sort of. It was complicated." "You know, she contacted me a few months ago. So I had my suspicions." So there's the reason for her targeted attack. But why did she call Trish, out of all people? Stella knew of our feud. Seeing my surprise, she continues: "Stella. She called me, checked in, and asked how I had been doing. Then after a while she asked me if I had heard anything about you. Which is a pretty weird question to ask if she knew our history.", she raises an eyebrow at me and her curls jiggle as she tilts her head at me.. Of course Stella did. Of. Fucking. Course. She had probably called in all the favors she could muster. Oh no, oh God no, I can't keep doing this, it's all cycling over and over ag- "Hey, Anon?", Trish tries to catch my eyes as I start drifting off, and it immediately pulls me back to reality. "Oh, yeah?" "You holding up? You turned pale, all of a sudden." I feel a bead of sweat roll down my forehead in slow motion. "I'm holding. But yeah, they don't think it be like it is but it do.", sighing as I raise my glass and drink deep to distract myself, even if only for a few seconds. Trish seems puzzled by my cryptic response, but keeps pushing: "So what happened between you two?" Ah fuck. Here goes: "Raptor Jesus Christ, where do I even begin..." "If you don't want to talk ab-" "It's fine, it's just a lot to unpack." Were I avoiding the subject? Were I stalling? Did I have anything to stall with? Filtering my thoughts, I realize there had been a question lingering in the back of my mind so I fire it off to give me a few seconds to think the rest of my story through: "Oh by the way, you never told me what happened to Reed?" Trish looks a bit taken back, confused at my sudden shift of subject. Had this been the wrong move? Yet she still responds: "Well, after he showed up, he said he was heading out. That he hoped I would do well.", Trish takes a sip and looks directly at me, "I was tired, so I didn't think too much of it. He had been spontaneous his entire life with what he put his effort into, when he actually put effort into something." "Like the band?" "Like the band. Or like that time we built a fort as kids. Or when he...", trailing off as she starts to fiddle with her dress before trying to change the topic, "So what's the deal with you and Stella?" I panic and fire blindly into the dark: "Do you mean Reed's thing with Carfe?", to which Trish deflates a bit but steels herself and continues: "Yeah. And more.", Trish just looks out into the void as she lingers on the 'more'. Was there something hidden that I never saw in Reed? Trish continues: "How much did Lucy tell you about us all?" "Not much, really. Just that you and her knew each other from way back." "Mmm. Well, not my place to talk much more about Reed. But he got himself into some deep shit with the wrong people.", she tenses up and clenches her jaw, "It all happened after the band broke up and Lucy left us." This was another one of those moments where I shut up. "It all happened because of you, because you came into our lives and fucked things up, you know?", Trish's voice trembles. But lord is it hard to keep myself from retaliating. Trish continues: "You came in, tore up the band, hurt Lucy, and made us her enemies too.", she's balling up her fists and I can see her knuckles whiten. Same anger, new purple packaging. She looks into my eyes and I see the fury burning inside her. "Why did you have to do it, Anon? Why did you do all of this, just to have your one night stand with your fetischised ideal goth girlfriend?", her body is coiling up and the hate is bubbling up to the surface. Had she been holding on to this for all this time? I slowly shake my head. I didn’t do it just for a cheap thrill. "Was it all worth it? Was pussy what you needed to fix your sorry self? DID YOU GET WHAT YOU WANTED?", she screams out the last part. Hopefully the neighbors aren't home. I lost everything I wanted that night on the beach, and I lost it again when I didn't talk to her afterwards. I lost it a third time when I didn't see her when I got back from the Navy. I lost everything when I met up with her again. Any defense was moot at this point. I open my mouth to try and explain, but all of a sudden the floodgates burst open and Trish starts screaming at me: slurs and vitriol. All those years have taken their toll on her too. It doesn't really matter what she's saying, the tone and volume convey it all: hatred, regret, and suffering over the things she has lost and all she never got back. She's going through a couple dozen emotions in a fraction of a second, just like she did back then. I see it all escalating, how her posture is getting more and more hostile, she's leaning forward into me as she starts shouting louder and tears fly from her eyes. She jams her finger into my chest to accentuate the words she's firing at me. Emotions and expressions flashes past at lightspeed. Then I see that she's about to punch me, the slight slouch before the strike to coil up and put some power into it; she must have gone to a self-defense class, I don't remember her being this proficient back then. It would be easy to just put up a defensive pose, prepare for the strike that was about to come. But the punch is thrown faster than I thought it would, I brace myself slightly for the impact but I don't have the time to react to the quick jab she throws; she's putting her weight into it and really driving it home. It doesn't hurt at first, but the wet crunching noise of cartilage being turned to mush is enough to tell me how well she placed that fist and it swiftly sends both me and my chair flying backwards, landing with my back on the chair's backrest and knocking the wind out of me. I can't hear her shouting anymore and the world is spinning. Trish is really fucking fast, even if I'm slightly concussed she's on me in a fraction of a second, fuelled by adrenaline and a fiery fury she rains blows on me. Eventually it starts to hurt, but I toughen out the pain; it's been coming for such a long time now. Punch after punch after punch after punch she takes out her aggression on me. So much hate in such a small body, I can't imagine how she'd manage to live with this pain inside her all this time. How much she hated me, and yet decided to come over today. Why? Would I die today, when things were finally turning around? I zone out, I see myself laying there on the floor. I half expect to feel Fang's hand on my shoulder, but it's still just me here; disassociating. Maybe I'd get to see Lucy once more. I feel Trish taking out her pain and sorrow on me as I half-assedly keep holding up my arms to guard myself. Then the blows start to give out, I feel my heart beating and my arms aching. Carefully opening my eyes I see Trish just sitting on me, making sorry attempts at banging her fists against my chest. Tears are rolling down her cheeks and her lower lip is trembling, it looks like it won't be long before she starts crying; but why would she cry over this, wasn't this all that she wanted? A few more attempts at pummeling my chest keeps me from sucking in too much air, so I just look at her as she's forcing herself to hold it in. Her mascara is running down her cheeks, and there's a small trickle of blood coming from her lip. Her shouting had ceased and now she was just mumbling to herself, but when we lock eyes she seems to muster enough willpower to speak again: "Why aren't you fighting back? Why are you just laying there?", she blurbs out while still half-heartedly bopping my chest with her fists as she sniffles and continues, "You won't even say anything, why are you just taking it?", one last punt then she just wobbles forward and flops down on my chest. She's not heavy, but fuck if my lungs didn't need the extra weight after having my diaphragm tenderized. I try to suck in some air still, and respond: "Trish, I just don’t care any more.", I'm not sure if all the words even make it out properly. My lip is split open, and my face bruised and bloodied. My hands are totally fucking fucked mate, big time. She stops, just laying still on me while breathing heavily; she wasn't in much of a physical shape and even worse off emotionally. I feel teardrops roll onto my shirt. There's a faint sobbing coming from the purple menace that's been assaulting me. "Why... Why did you invite me over if you don’t care? I hate you, I've kept hating you, and I'll keep hating you. Why do you pretend to be nice and that things are okay? How can you just live with it?" "I want things to be okay, again. If you need to hate me, then hate me." "Why won't you retaliate, why aren't you angry?", voice trembling, she opens her mouth to say something more, but the words are stuck. I try to stretch my arms out to give her a hug and feel a stinging pain in my wrist, but I persevere and manage to wrap my arms around the sad triceratops. She recoils at my touch, but eases when she feels that it's just a hug. "I loved Lucy too. You did your best for her.", I started to gently stroke her back, "I tried my best to make her happy too." Trish quiets down. I give her some time, stroking her back and feeling her slowly lose the tension she had been building up. A very quiet, vulnerable, girl responds: "We fucked up, didn't we?" "Yeah, we fucked up.", and I feel tears welling up. When Trish breaks down and starts crying I give in too and let it out. It never stops hurting, the emotions just change form. How could you ever undo something like this?