16. CHAPTER 16
H e hasn’t spoken to me for three days.
Stuff still gets done, but it just kind of happens. Though I suppose after three weeks in such tight quarters, a routine is bound to form.
Eden is outside a lot during the day. He dug a track in the snow the whole way around the cabin and to the shed with a ramp leading towards the track to the lake.
And he's obsessed with the solar panels.
I swear he's up on the roof more than he's indoors.
But aside from that, I don't know what he fills his time with because he sure as hell isn't inside with me.
Sometimes I scream into my pillow when I think he's far enough away.
I'm so stupid for thinking this wouldn't happen.
But I still let myself believe the next morning I'd wake up to the sound of him in the shower, then we'd sit and have breakfast together like I didn't watch him jerk off.
Maybe a few days later he'd suggest it again—perhaps even offer to let me pick the DVD.
I'd find one with a threesome with two guys, that way I wouldn't be too distracted by him.
In my search I might have even found a random bisexual one he didn't know was in there.
I could sneak it on while he was outside to distract myself from the delusion that I haven't always been into guys, and that I want to be Eden's cheerleader so freaking badly it's starting to hurt.
I've been standing in the middle of the cabin holding onto the handle of the carpet sweeper and staring out the front window for a while now. I want to move, but I've learned that if I do anything too quickly I only have to sit longer with my thoughts once I've run out of things to do.
Eden reappearing from behind the wall of snow triggers my movement, and I return the carpet sweeper to the cupboard under the stairs.
I spend so much of my time sitting on this damn sofa, but it still feels so good every time I sink into it.
Reaching over the arm, I pick up Brave New World from the floor.
Holding it up to my face, I fan through the pages and feel the air against my skin before opening it up and pressing my nose into its center.
It smells no less amazing than every other time I've done this, but the satisfaction is always so short lived.
Pulling the book away from my face, I stare at all the tabs sticking out from the pages. I flick them with my fingertips, then search for the one I scribbled '17' on, and open it again.
???? ??? ?????? ??? ???? ???.
One believes something because one was conditioned to believe it.
I don't think that when my Halmae gave me this book it was her intention for me to fixate on this specific phrase, or any of the fifty other ones I've highlighted.
But then again, maybe she did. Maybe at fifteen she could already see what I was struggling to express.
Maybe she could already see how unhappy I was.
I open it at another tab.
?? ???, ? ??? ????? ???.
I am I, and I wish I weren't.
How do parents know what is best for their kids?
Why is it left up to them, with the government only stepping in if things get bad?
Why do so many people place such faith in something they can’t see, but give up believing in The Tooth Fairy while still in middle school?
??? ?? ?? ???. ?? ??? ? ???? ???.
I want to know what passion is. I want to feel something strongly.
Why do things like age, and sex, and race mean so much to so many people?
Why is the amount of money a person makes the only way of measuring success?
?? ? ??? ?? ???. ? ??, ??? ???.
I like being myself. Myself, and nasty.
I hear the screen door open and close, and keep my head down.
“How many fucking times have you read that book?” Eden asks before the cabin door is even closed behind him.
Shocked by the sound of his voice, my head shoots up, and I’m actually speechless for several seconds before replying, "It’s not like I have any other options.”
As he hangs his coat and beanie on one of the hooks beside the door, he tells me, "All you had to do is ask,” like that was all it was going to take to stop this ridiculous standoff. “What is it, anyway?”
“What? Oh. Brave New World.”
Eden makes his way to the storage cupboard and starts emptying its top shelf of all the backwards books. “I've never heard of it.”
“Have you heard of 1984?”
“Yeah. I think so. It’s the world but they spy on you. Big Brother, right?”
“Exactly. This is the same kind of thing. Except less emphasis on the ‘what you can and can’t say’, and more on different people’s roles in society.”
“Sounds boring.”
“Yeah, well. You like Gran Turismo.”
“I can put these back.”
“No! I’m sorry.” I stand and walk to the table as Eden pulls the last book out. He starts picking them up one by one, then turns them to face me.
“They’re Shawn’s. I was gonna use them for kindling, but thought better of it and just turned them around—oh shit.
” A book spins through the air like a pizza and lands right in front of me.
“Guess I’ve got a type—fuck, that’s not what I meant…
I mean, the only other people who’ve stayed here both have the same book. ”
I reach over and pick up Taylor Swift's biography. "I've got nothing against her, but I'm not sure how much Shawn and I actually have in common."
“What’s the author's name? Huxley?” Eden reaches back across the table and spins Shawn's copy of Brave New World around so he can read it properly. "Aldous Huxley. Yep," he says, and shoves another book in my direction.
I take the book from his outstretched hand; The Island. I’ve never heard of it, but I hold it to my chest like a child afraid it’ll be taken away.
Eden continues to slide more books in my direction, then abruptly steps back from the table.
I raise my eyes to look at him, but he's just staring down at the piles of books.
“I’m, ah." He swallows, and takes another step back.
"I'm gonna take a shower before dinner. Do whatever you want with these, just make sure they're put away.
I lower my head and tell him, "No worries."
The bathroom door closes, and I start going through the books one by one…
"Do you wanna eat outside again?"
The book I'm holding twitches in my hands at the sight of Eden in only his sweatpants. “Um, sure,” I reply hesitantly, repeating his words over in my head to make sure I understood them right.
“Do you think you could do the veggies tonight?”
“Alright… But can I use some things from the pantry?”
“Only if you use the old stuff in the back.”
“Don’t complain about what I do, okay?”
“You planning on poisoning me?”
“I plan on blowing your bland, no seasoning, white boy mind.”
“I use seasoning.”
“You didn’t last time.”
“You pissed me off so much I didn’t think you deserved it.”
“So you punished yourself as well?”
He smirks. “You need to stop pointing out the flaws in my logic.”
“You need to stop having so many flaws.”
The smile falls off his face, and I grip the book tighter in my hand.
“I won’t drink as much tonight.”
“You can if you want to. They're your beers.”
But he shakes his head. “I’ll go through them too quickly.”
“Suit yourself,” I shrug, and force my eyes back down to the books.
“Oh, um—do you want a tree?”
“A tree?”
“Yeah. It’s December.”
“Is there really any point if it’s only the two of us?” Looking almost hurt, Eden backs towards the bathroom. “And there aren't any decorations.”
“How do you know?”
“Apart from your loft, I’ve cleaned every square inch of this place more than once. So unless you’re hoarding them up there—“
“Fine, I get it. I was just trying to be nice.”
“Not ignoring me for the past three days would have been nice,” I mutter as he re-enters the bathroom.