The Tribuo - 56. Part V, chapter 10

- X -

When we got to the apartment, Russell was sitting outside smoking, his expression calm.

“Ahh, crap,” I muttered. So much for avoiding the whole uncomfortable talk thing.

“Oh, just talk to him!” Jess hissed impatiently, and I looked at her with surprise.

She’s been acting really weird lately. All those mood swings…

“Are you on your period or something?” I asked and she stared at me.

“What?! No! Why?” She sounded shrill.

“You are way too irritable,” I shrugged. “Go take a nap. You look like you haven’t slept for days.”

“Yeah, I might,” she grumbled and got out of the car. “Call me!”

“No,” I sighed and climbed out as well. “You call me. First of all, I don’t want to wake you up and get murdered, and second of all…” I looked at her steadily. “Calling you is a tiresome business.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” I said, but she was already by the front door.

I sighed and walked up to the bench where Russell was sitting. He stabbed his cigarette in an ashtray next to him, and got up.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Don’t tell me you want to go get coffee again,” I said with a slight frown.

He blinked.

“No. I am not that much of an addict,” he said seriously. “Let’s go clean your apartment.”

“Oh,” I muttered. “All right, let’s go.”

…My apartment wasn’t too far from Jess’ -- fifteen minutes of speed-limit driving. Eight or maybe, five minutes if there was no traffic or cops in sight. I didn’t feel like speeding, so we got there in fifteen minutes. I unlocked the door, trying to remember if I put all the dirty laundry away on Friday before I left. I had no idea. Oh, well.

We walked inside and Russell let out an amused laughter.

“Wow,” he said. “I thought you were making up the whole cleaning thing…”

“Umm,” I said. “No.”

“I can see that,” he nodded.

I glanced around and sighed. I was never a clean freak. My place wasn’t a dumpster, but it looked like it suffered some serious tornado devastation. Or Nazi invasion, whatever deals more damage.

“Do you have a roommate?” he asked when we were almost done with the pile of dishes that’s been haunting me for the last week or so.

“Nope,” I said. “I only have one bedroom. Where do you think my roommate would be living?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said seriously. “Maybe he is buried somewhere there,” he nodded towards the living room that looked like an exploded paper factory.

“Right,” I snorted. “No, I don’t have a roommate. I…” I coughed. “I function much better on my own.”

“Right on,” he nodded.

…We didn’t really talk much for the next couple of hours, but I was surprised at our efficiency. The place looked somewhat decent now. The couch in the living room could be now used for sitting, can you believe that? I don’t remember the last time I was able to do that.

“You are a pack rat,” Russell said finally after we were done. “I've never seen so much useless stuff just lying around. You don’t believe in throwing junk away?”

“Nope,” I shook my head. “Never know when it might come in handy.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” he agreed. “But what if there is an earthquake one of those days? You’ll be buried alive here!”

I couldn’t come up with anything witty to say to that, so I just shrugged. I turned on the stove and filled the kettle with water.

“Instant coffee?” Russell asked with curiosity.

“Tea,” I said, reaching for the mugs. “I’ve had enough coffee this morning, believe me.”

“Right,” he hemmed.

Now that the cleaning part was over with, there was that uncomfortable silence once again. I sat on the chair next to the window and stared outside. Russell was fiddling with his lighter. I briefly thought of various conversation topics, but then gave up. I didn’t feel like making small talk. Plus, the whole “The weather is lovely this time of year” thing would sound ridiculous, to say the least. The kettle screamed shrilly on the stove, and I got up and turned it off.

We were drinking tea a few silent minutes later, when he said without looking at me:

“His name was Brian.”

I didn’t have to ask any futile questions like, “Whose name?” or “What are you talking about?”

“Ah,” I nodded, staring into my mug.

“He was…” he paused and drank his tea. “He was my best friend,” he finished.

“Friend or boyfriend?” I asked, my eyes glued to my mug, as if it was about to bite me the second I looked away.

“Both, actually,” he said quietly.

“Ah,” I nodded again. Then it finally registered in my brain. “Was?” I looked up at him.

“Yeah,” he looked outside. “He died.”

I blinked at that. A hell of a coincidence. But I wasn’t about to tell him about Jordan. I didn't know why, but I just couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I said instead.

He nodded.

“Yeah…” He finally looked at me, his mouth twisted in a small smile. “You look just like him. When I first saw you…”

“I remember,” I said. “You looked like you were about to drop dead.”

“Yeah,” he muttered again. “It’s creepy, really…”

I snorted.

“You sure know how to give a compliment,” I said. “Creepy is one of those words that make me all warm and fuzzy.”

“I meant the resemblance,” he frowned. “Not you.”

“I was making a joke,” I muttered.

“Oh…” he looked outside again.

“It wasn’t funny,” I sighed.

“No, it really wasn’t,” he said quickly, and I laughed weakly at that. He smiled as well.

“You can smoke in the kitchen, by the way,” I opened the window.

“Your smoke alarm is not going to yell at me?”

“No,” I pulled my own pack out of my jeans' pocket. “Not in the kitchen.”

“So yeah,” he said after a couple of minutes, his fingers clutching onto his Parliament.

“Last night only happened because I look like him, right?” I asked calmly.

He looked at me for several silent seconds.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “That and… Well, rum...”

“Right,” I nodded. “Rum.”

“Those were the reasons for last night…”

“You are honest,” I interrupted him. “I have to give you that…”

“...but not for this morning,” he finished in a smaller voice.

This time I didn’t say anything. Both of us were silent for a long time. Finally, he sighed.

“Look… I’m not gonna make shit up, and I’m not gonna say that I don’t see Brian when I look at you, but… I don’t see just Brian… I…” he closed his eyes. “I don’t know what the hell I am saying… I guess what I am trying to say is that I want to spend time with you… Not just because you look like him…”

“But that’s one of the reasons,” I thought, but didn’t say it out loud. I knew that he would say yes, and I am not masochistic.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“I just want to spend time with you,” he said again, this time softer. “If you want me to get out, I will.”

That was the problem. I didn’t want him to get out. I knew that I was being moronic. I knew that nothing good could ever come from this. I knew that he would always see Brian in me. I mean, if he looked like Jordan’s twin, would I be able not to see that? I knew that I would end up screwing myself over, and that the best thing to do would be to stop everything right now. I knew all that. But I also knew that I didn’t want him to go.

I wrapped my fingers around my mug, warming up my suddenly cold hands.

“I don’t want you to get out,” I said finally, and felt like I was taking a crazy plunge into Niagara Falls, headfirst.

“Okay,” he said quietly, and he sounded relieved.

We were silent once again, and then I remembered something.

“Oh, crap!” I said and got up. “I never fixed that damn fuse!” I explained when he looked at me quizzically.

“I fixed it,” he grinned. “After you guys left this morning.”

“Oh…” I sat back down. “Okay… Because Jess would probably kill me, considering the mood she is in lately.”

“I thought she was always like that,” he said, and I shook my head.

“No. She’s been acting really bizarre ever since Wednesday night.”

“Lack of sleep?” he offered.

“Probably…” I sighed. “And apparently, she is smoking now. Which is really strange. You should’ve heard her going off on me every time I would light up around her…”

Russell shrugged.

“Shit happens,” he said. “If you ask me, smoking is a lesser evil compared to some other crap.”

“True,” I agreed. “I guess it’s the whole twenty-two credits pressure thing… I told her that was a dumb move, but…” I shrugged.

“She’ll be fine,” he hemmed. “Anything else you need to clean?”

“Not really,” I said, thinking that my bedroom looked worse than the living room. I could sleep on the couch now though, so it didn't matter.

“Wanna go do something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “What do people do?”

“Well,” I finally finished my tea. “We could go eat something for starters, because my stomach is about to start growling…”

“Sounds good,” he nodded energetically. “I could use some food as well.”

“And then…” I shrugged.

“We’ll figure it out,” he shoved his smokes and lighter into his pocket. “Ideas never hit me on an empty stomach.”

“We’ll figure it out,” I repeated and we walked outside.