Friday, 19 November 2010

Papercut. Chapter 15.

The bus ride doesn't seem anything special, seems usual, as if I had seen these houses sleep all my life, as people crawl out and for a second a feel as if there is something pressing against my back.

Nothing, but I see him eating an apple.

So I'm I, sleeping.

You're home, call down, Roman.

How can I?

It felt as if memories from three days ago were something I saw in a life or my past life, as if there were a nightmare I had woken up and somebody had been feeding me grapes the past three years. I'd say some Goddess, but the only one I've seen I have lost.

I could feel the music try to blur out my thoughts and I obey, pressing my head against the window feeling the morning cold get divided from me by the thick glass.

The morning was set on replay, as I was looking at my split-personalities lost album which he had written above the faces who was whom or rather why was Kayleen close and why was she holding a knife. She seemed frequent in his memories. Was I the split-personality as well? Did I have something for her as well? She keeps asking me as I look at my Converse. She takes my face in her hands, trying to open my eyes, as my split-personality stands or rather sits on the seat in front, chewing something, I hope not my
liver or something. The talks between them seem to end quickly, as if she suspects something strange and soon enough the door clicks in a sad way. Door? I press my head against the cupboards.

Was I home?

I could feel another hair ruffle and a smirk.

I wasn’t gasping at everything and in every way my symptom described. I was sane, my body was simply a vessel for the both of us, really, as we'd take turns and have a poker night to choose who was going next
and how much.

But despite the fact that I could spill my heart out again, I saw no possibility to get rid of it. The pills had an amazingly funny effect, which I didn’t bother to describe now.

It was either living with it or she could leave.

Yeah, that would do.

I looked ahead trying to see a glimpse of dark hair and a black haired girl, in other words Frankie and his girlfriend. I saw nothing that resembled them and proceeded back to my window gazing. Everything was
passing by, trees, buildings, people with coffee in their hands. I even felt a sudden urge for coffee, as the bus made a stop.

I walked outside watching students whizz by in the grounds. Some lay on the grass, not bothering with the start in five minutes, others hesitating, some clearly running with pencils behinds their ears falling down as they nearly tripped on me. Oh, my damned height. I walked on, not getting bothered by anybody. I should be the one who should bother.

I raise my chin, wondering where did I find self-obsession, stepping aside giving way to those who run inside as if it was the way to salvation. Maybe it was the light side after twelve years of boredom now left for others to swallow. Let them, huff and puff the first five minutes. They'll do the same for the next generation. Let them lay forgotten by the teachers, who sharp their teeth with chalk and markers, in the grass. But I walk inside at a normal pace, ignoring the world, the teachers in my head, as I saw farewell, as I embrace my
first full university day. Simple, just like that. No more bites on the neck as parents tend to believe that I screwed girls when it was mere school.

I walk on as a familiar voice makes me stop. I get a hold of the ending a mere ‘..kie’ floating in the air by a few familiar notes building a simple voice. Now it gets louder with heavy breathing coming closer to me, is this an intimate moment in my nineteenth year and how everyone describes uni as being a rather kinky place but then I see no cool naked dudes? I seem or at least try to concentrate and I do not feel like seeing them as I have heard that voice before.

Indeed, I have. I see a familiar guy run nearly past me in a green hoodie, with a white drawstring and a black one on the left both hanging. He doesn't stabilize his breath, he doesn't bother and it's more than audible even with people talking and the crowd stuck in their chalk drawn circles of friendship.

Hair stuck to his forehead, sweat dripping, eyes covered by light chestnut glue threaded in rows, eyelashes pierced together resembling a small pitch black line, a thin nose sticking out somewhere underneath the waterfall of sweat and sticky hoddie stuck to his back or is the nose supposed to be above it all, resembling a trophy allowing the possibility to breath in the discarded thoughts of others?

He raises his head, his eyes freed from the prison as blood leaks out, I blink, it's gone but I hear a knife cutting softly with a numb moan from behind his bangs as a big grin forms, not pausing his huffing for one bit. Melvin, pushes his hands from his a while ago stitched knees as the needle and the thread is there. He straightens up, pulling his arms, showing the hands underneath the oversized hoodie, closes his eyes, grins at some thought, looks around, blushes, laughs and comes back to me, looking brand new apart from the remaining eternity held in a thought inside a balloon.

“Hey, Rome.” His gray blue eyes greet me in a friendly way, as he takes several bangs out of his other eye. Then his lips form a perfect ‘o’, as he takes my hand and yanks it forward with him. As realization comes with world corruption, as something goes wrong above it all. What is it, Melvin? “Frankie? Frankie? Where are you?”

The world needs Frank. That's it the gift to eternal salvation, Frank.

He doesn't feel embarrassed, he never does apparently, the child within in destroying the lego houses demanding for naive attention, but he never asks it over the top, I think, I guess but then a child
is an egoistic creature. He raises his voice and pouts, running to the left with my arm in his grip, as if he were a cheerleader and I were his pom-pom, sounded weird, Mel, I don't want to be your pom-pom. Is that what we and Frankie were? Is that it can a mere thought gone wrong spoil the impression? Without any choice left I follow, I am the pom-pom and as banal as the thing and as sparkly, I guess. I manage to greet him back, as we run and he answers with an excited smirk on his tired face.

In the end we find Frankie, who wishes that he could hide from the red pom-pom and his sidekick the culprit of disaster. See? That's how school corrupts you, even after several months of graduation the flames of an unholy place are there with screeches and numbers cutting the throat trying to bite your sanity.

They do.

They find none.

He can only smash his own head against the wall, call it suicide but in other violent cases, but then he shall always be the culprit of aggression, as we'd lay there cracked, nothing leaking out and no aggression shown or yeah, no aggression just maybe a few question held and thrown diagonally, never reaching the core of his thoughts, destroyed with the folder where are names are written, a golden medal given out for killing someone, as Roman who can harm the society with his misbalance. Melvin presses his back against the wall, feeling himself slide down with a thud, his legs clearly in the way of other students. He raises his head, the bangs still glued, he seems to ignore the compliments about his long legs dividing the hallway. Maybe he is a nineteen year old kid, I just hope their is something than that there inside, as I realize how harsh I judge people, Frankie already with an anger management in my head, Melvin sucking on a lollypop. Mel even ignores somebody’s kick until he kicks them back as softly as he could unlike them, his head not moving, eyes closed, eyelids shut and sometimes he open them, quickly glancing at the man himself.

Frank smiles at him, Melvin forces out a smile, sighs and gives out as real as he can actually make it.

It's impossible to argue against people you like, there is simply too much distraction, so you just smile dumbly even if the argument is small and mute.

I watched them both amused, wondering if I can buy popcorn nearby, as he stretches out his arms once more above his head making a circular motion against the wall, his breath steadying, the circle catching his hair and his light eyes in the center, looking down, catching lost thoughts.

“Hey, Frank…” I hold myself from adding the ‘ie’ to the end, as I am no Melvin. But still when Melvin calls him Frankie face to face, sometimes a tense answer would escape from his mouth, but usually he never bothers and goes on despite Frank's glare and Melvin wins. As I figure, he always was trying to show coldness in his voice, his eyes sometimes reflecting second thoughts, hiding emotions unlike Melvin who has the naivety I lost ages ago.

“Frankie, did they really divide us?” Melvin moans closing his eyes, not knowing his own reaction, not feeling the urge to watch as Frank approves the staff’s decision. Is he afraid of meeting new people or he likes clinging onto the square jawed handsome in girl's eyes guy? Frankie nods, but then sees Melvin’s shut eyes and says it aloud, a small frown forming on his as some would describe Greek Godlike face. To me he's not attractive, not my type of guy sorry, I'm all for my split-personality, of course my soulmate in the same body and pure narcism all the way, baby!

“Aw, that sucks, Frank. Hey, Rome, what lesson do you have now?” Curiosity printed with red ink of his face along with a trail of blue hope. But he was so open to me yesterday, why was he so worried about going alone into a class full of students? The idea alone made the brown haired male spring to the life literally as he jumps up, grabbing my arms and waving them hysterically, a grin forming instead of the tired pout.

“History… of art?” I pronounce it more like a question than a statement when I know what my first class is but nothing else which follows, between pauses, praying that I had some luck left to make Mel
my classmate. Then Melvin jumps up high, pulling me into a tight hug, throwing a fist in the air, kicking his leg in the process, as I jump with him as I have no other choice. I am expecting and get quite a handful of weird glances and possible notes of insanity but I doubt any mental illnesses now in my now not so clean white reputation.

Is it easy to figure that I have a split personality? Is it easy to see that I am not myself sometimes, that I flirt or is it because the desire to cheat inside is that bug that I cannot hold it and I manage to do it via another person.


I am calling my other self a person?

But he is really a part of me complicating the puzzle which is Roman?

“Yes, take that Frankie! You’ll be alone without us! You'll come running! You’ll come begging on your knees, did I say, beg? Well, yeah! And with cookies! Bring the double chocolate ones, please.” Melvin says with a wide grin, mockery included, but a tint of regret often showing itself, threading itself through the fingers closing the gap. Then the bell rings, a silence bomb, grabbing speech and giving a wave of speed for people to run or does it slow them down the feeling of panic tying their eyes and paranoia given as a pill, sweat is water, drink it, student or lay quietly in the grass smoking weed.

“Sure-o, Melvin. I’ll miss you.” Frank says with a quick eye roll, muttering that he'll sees us soon much to his dismay, how shall it be Frank to know that you'll see a lost guy and your hyper best friend in an hour or so? With a rather quick pace he walks towards the classroom which is opposite ours labeled with a fancy card with 106 printed on it, it's not that far I can send him my thoughts and gossip. He glances at us and walks inside, straightening his back, closing his eyes and grasping the fact that he had made it, he's a student, he
keeps the door open to other students which follow or run behind him, he waits a few seconds, looking at the running five people in bright clothes, he ignores the teacher and waits, never glancing at me or Melvin. He needs to breathe in the last glimpses of the left over summer remaining in the autumn air and after the bright spot reaches the gray mass, a big blob of colours, Frank glances at us, smiles, grins, laughs and closes the door with a wave. Melvin pouts, but smiles to himself, as we both head inside after sharing a Frankie stalk together.

“Good thing, we’re both here.” He says aloud, ruffling his light brown hair, grinning at me, patting my back, jumping up again, not glancing if the teacher is there or not, the teacher isn't. A set of curious eyes take notice of our rather fancy entrance and introduction in the hallway or make out session with Mel's legs. Melvin just tilts his head up, standing on his tiptoes, his hands in his pockets, bangs flying backwards, revealing his light eyes as he looks for two seats, empty, I might add. Then he looks down, never admitting his confusion
as he snaps back to sense with a goofy look to see two empty spaces on the first row right in front of the teacher’s nose. I shrug, realizing that I don't really mind and we are kind of late might as well take them or leave and I didn't study hard to leave it because I'll be staring at the teacher too intense and it will be mutual. And above all history of art wasn’t as boring as it actually can be or the first thoughts when you think of it. I’m serious. But then it is boring to quite a bit amount of people, but then so do a lot of things sound boring for myself.

“You’re… Melvin, right?” A voice asks the man himself, as she stands up, a grin flashing. Her face lights up as she sees two familiar faces, both lost for a mere second as we go through the lit faces from yesterday in our minds. Her hair is still gelled back with that flashy hot pink stripe, black frames now to her contrast and a big smile. She tilts her head, moving her gaze onto me, trying to remember my name.

“Thomas?” She asks, unsure and playing with her nails in the process a quick look down and up, smile at Roman, biting her tongue afraid that by the looks of it she gets it wrong and loses a point. Melvin watches
her silently, a smile creeping onto his face again, as I notice that a while ago he had a rather concentrated face. Now an easy smile replaces it.

“Naw, that is good ol’ Rome.” He says swinging an arm across my shoulders, as if I were Frankie, I'm I going to make out in a bus soon then as well? A clear, open, friendly gesture of his. The girl smiles wider, somehow still showing the embarrassment in her voice. Melvin, apparently, the pimp or schoolboy never tears his eyes off her and it seems mutual, I would say romantic, but they don't look canon with Melvin's hoodie unless it was high school, but then uni is an idea way to spend your last teenage year. “And yeah, I’m Melvin.”

“Jill. Sorry, Roman. Nice to meet you both, again.” Jill grins wider, fixing her frames, pushing them up her nose with two fingers, never distracting her, of course there's a potential future boyfriend-to-be maybe even more if she believes in everything which follows. She hears Melvin’s answer, corrects herself, apologizes, smiles and nods pleased with herself for remembering at least one name and guess why and who's. We both stand for a while analyzing each other’s appearance, chewing on the first impression, near to ready to spit it out to analyze each other's inner self and question ourselves if we want it, well, mostly I did. I just stand, watching Melvin open his mouth thinking of a question.

“You have anything in mind you want to do, Jill?” He asks, looking up as if the next question of his was written in graffiti style on the white ceiling. What does he listen to anyway, never got round to ask him really. Why is that always the question of the day when you want to hit on a girl but try to look smart or is it just me with Lola? Sadly, I tend to believe that it's just me considering the fact that I've only dated Lola seriously, a few one-timers don't count and they just kind of fade out. He brings his gaze back to her, the smile still seen in his eyes. I'm not a fool, I do believe that, I am the third one out but I still stand, wondering if I should screw them and sketch something, practice makes perfect, I know that, so I glance from while to while at my class, wondering if I can flirt as well. Sadly, I do not recognize anybody and I'm loyal to my thoughts and my reflection so I just desperately kept glancing as Jill struggles.

“Well, just an artist is risky. I was thinking something with history of art, well, since I enjoy it quite a lot.” She grins wider, tilting her head in the process. I guess I do not have Melvin’s charms, not that I’m jealous. Maybe it's time to get my mind of Lola. No, it isn't.

I'm just being stupid.

Never ever-ever will that be.

I say in my mind, shaking off the dreadful thought of replacing her.


What about her?

Screw you, kid.

Great, I believe I have schizophrenia. I hear that same voice swear at me in a harsh way, maybe he says it aloud, that Jill glances at me suspiciously, but drops it, I'm not the potential boyfriend, after all. She had her mind and thoughts, questions as well flooded with hoodie guy. Always the Melvin type, always.

But that’s about to change, baby.

Chapter 16

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