8. Chapter 8
It returned. The darkness. My old friend. It always did. I ignored the signs; I chose not to see it slithering at the edge of my vision, preparing to strike.
I couldn’t get out of bed. Led weighed down my limbs. My only active movement was the rise and fall of my chest as sobs escaped my mouth. Tears fell from my eyes and collected in itchy pools in my ears.
This was me, and this was my depression.
For all the good, I always returned here. A boomerang of devastating sadness. Even with a lifetime of familiarity with my shit mental health, I still managed to get knocked on my ass. After the tears stopped, I was left with negativity swirling around my brain. A draining poison with my voice.
You are nothing.
Dad and my friends knew my struggles. They looked at my mental health with an invisible sneer. My inability to cope was a character fault of the worst degree. I hesitated to reach out. A part of me knew nothing good would come from it. The other part of me always wanted to hope otherwise.
Poppy: not doing so great
I scratched at the trails of dried tears on my face.
Jordan: Theres a stomach bug going around.
Poppy: Not that. Feeling down
Shay: Awwww Poppy! I was hoping we could go out tonight!
I pictured them sitting beside each other on the couch laughing, saying Poppy’s at it again.
My stomach twisted. The worry of disappointing my friends was a force substantial enough to drag me out of bed.
I pushed my negativity down as far as I could.
I wanted to be happy and carefree. So, I forced myself to pretend.
I spent several minutes standing in front of the open fridge, shoveling turkey slices into my mouth before taking my Zoloft.
Disappoint yourself, not others.
Poppy’s number one rule for life.
***
Now, hours later, horrible trap music thumped inside my skull.
My drunken brain was losing a brawl with the beat.
I brought a small plastic cup of ice water to my mouth and downed it in one gulp.
This was our third bar tonight. Shay didn’t like the vibes of the first club.
At the second club, a fight broke out. So far, the third time was proving to be the charm.
I looked over to Shay and Jordan shaking their asses on the dancefloor.
In a black minidress, Shay’s hips dipped and swayed seductively to the beat.
Jordan looked stiff and out of place as hell, trying to keep up with his girlfriend. The clash was almost painful to watch.
Almost.
He placed an owning palm on Shay’s hip. An unassuming move to anyone else, but I read it as a move of possession.
They were together, and he was proud as hell to let everyone know.
I was the third wheel forced to be content people-watching, drink-guarding, and table-saving.
This was my lot in life, the lonely slot.
I was thankful for the buzz in my head, keeping the sadness at bay. Otherwise, I’d be crying.
I chewed on an ice cube, hoping to soothe the little fires of pessimism and despair in my soul. The crunching echoed in my head. I was out and about, living life, having fun, and functioning. Cosplaying normal. The song changed, and the pair made their way back to the table.
“You’re missing out!” Shay shouted as she slid into the seat beside me.
Jordan sat across from us and wiped at the visible sweat on his brow.
I shook my head. “Nah, I’m good.”
“You know Poppy gets embarrassed easily.” Jordan poured himself a glass from the still-full pitcher of lime margarita.
Shay rolled her eyes. “We can work on that, Poppy.”
“Maybe I’m fine with it?”
“Why, though? You don’t have to be.” She grabbed my shoulder.
“Eh, it doesn’t really bother me.” My cheeks burned.
This was a conversation I didn’t want to have.
I especially didn’t want to have it in a loud-ass club.
As if on cue, Jordan shoved a full glass of margarita to his girlfriend.
None the wiser, Shay sipped her drink. The social lubricant to all human interaction.
Drunk off our asses, we could just exist until the morning when the drunk glasses came off.
“Going to the bathroom!” Shay yelled.
“Do you want me to come with you?” I invoked the girl code rule about traveling to the bathroom in packs.
“Just gotta pee. I’ll be fine.” Shay pinched my cheek before leaving the table.
Jordan scooted closer to me. His face was flushed and even under the dim club lighting, his skin glowed.
Thank God for brown skin.
“You doing okay, Poppy?”
It took everything inside of me not to bust a gut laughing right in Jordan’s face.
Was I ever okay?
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“You know how Shay is. She just wants everyone to step outside their comfort zones and have a good time.”
“They’re called comfort zones for a reason.” I deadpanned.
“Poppy.” Jordan laughed into his glass.
Hold it together, Poppy! This is a fun night!
My emotions clawed at their box. I steadied my breathing and reached for the pitcher of emotion suppressant. After the bathroom, Shay bounced between the dancefloor and the table, helping us polish off the alcohol. Jordan watched his girlfriend with a pointed gaze.
Horny jerks.
At the end of the night, the two ducked into a cab.
I hoped for the driver’s sake that they waited until they got home to fuck.
I planned on using the walk home to clear my head and sober up.
I stared up at the night sky, giggling as my evaporating breath reminded me of a dragon.
It was two in the morning. Alone on the slushy sidewalk, my mind wandered to Summoner.
Was he up?
Did he have a bedtime?
I giggled at the thought. I wasn’t ready to be alone.
Alone was where my negative voice turned up to ten.
I spun around and walked towards Summoner’s place.
Unlike my walk and subway ride home, I didn’t have far to go.
Apparently, nice clubs and expensive penthouses were in the same neighborhood.
As I stumbled up the front steps of Summoner’s building, a voice called out,
“Are you okay?!”
“I’m fine!” I flashed a pair of thumbs up.
When I made it to the top of the stairs, I squinted, very confused at the doorman standing there. He wasn’t the typical guy who always gave me pitying glances. It was a new guy giving me pitying glances.
“Visiting someone, Ma’am?” His face looked uneasy.
“Yep! Number 60.”
“I’ll let them know you’re on your way up.”
“Thanks! Just to let you know I’m not always like this. I’m, like, really drunk right now.” I snorted.
The bewildered new doorman nodded. “Right, then. You have a good night, Ma’am.”
Still giggling like an idiot, I made it to the elevator and lamented the bright light.
It’s 2am, who decided full elevator lights were a good idea? Who?!
On the ride up, I cursed Edison for inventing the light bulb.
I stepped off the elevator and blinked back, surprised at Moore standing in the hallway.
He was propped up against the wall between his apartment and Summoner’s.
Dressed in a tank top and a pair of plaid boxers, the hefty man looked unamused and tired.
“What’s up Moore!?” I shouted.
He shook his head. “He’s going to kill you. You know that, right?”
“Nah, I’m an annoying pain in the ass. He loves me!” I grinned.
Moore shook his head again. “Drunk?”
“The very same!”
“Tell Boss man that I’ll take you home whenever.”
“Maybe I want to stay foreverrrrr!” I sang loudly, and mostly off key. But finished with a flourish by throwing up my hands. Still grinning like an idiot, I knocked on Summoner’s door.
“He’s on his way down. The doorman gave us the heads up. You don’t have to knock so damn loud!” Moore explained.
The door opened to a bleary-eyed, dressed-down Summoner. Dressed in a pair of loose fitting, black sweatpants and a thin shirt. He still looked delectable.
“Your drunken company, Boss,” Moore said over my shoulder.
“Thank you, Moore. Hello there, Poppy.” Summoner stretched his arms overhead.
A totally uncomplicated motion in any other circumstance. In this circumstance, his shirt rode up, exposing the firm ridges of muscle on his torso. His pants sat so low that the v of his hips was visible. It was just a flash of skin and muscle that turned the cogs in my brain.
Christ…
My toes curled and dug lines into my shoes. He had no right. No right at all. He had a lean, muscular build. I desperately wanted to touch him…Kiss him…Lick him…
“You alright?” he asked.
“W-W-hat?”
“Are you alright? Let’s get you some water.”
I followed Summoner to the kitchen, where it took a power greater than myself not to jump up on the counter, spread my legs, beg for him to hold me, fuck me, and never let go. Instead, I rested my head on the cool marble countertop. He placed a bottle of water in my hand.
“Fun night?” He sat beside me.
“Sort of, I guess.” I sat up and took a healthy chug of water.
“Why not?”
“Eh, whenever I go bar hopping with my friends, I always feel like the third wheel. And not like a normal third wheel, I mean the squeaky kind.”
His eyes widened. “Ah, I can’t say I know what you mean.”
“My besties are a couple and even though we do a lot together, I still feel kinda left out. Like tonight, Shay wanted to dance, so we went dancing. Her and Jordan were all over each other and since I don’t dance or have a partner, I was left out.”
“I see how that would make you feel. I guess at least they tried to include you.”
My water bottle crinkled under my tightening fist.
“They even try setting me up on dates, and those are usually a fucking dumpster fire. Because guys suck.”
Summoner clutched his chest. “As a man, I take offense.”
“You’re awesome. I shouldn’t have to say it.”
“I mean, if you’re going to barge into my house in the middle of the night totally piss-drunk, you can at least give me a compliment.” He raised his eyebrows.
“I get so lonely. I wish I had someone to date. But it always seems like guys never know how to hang out. It’s like if you go out with them, you have to fuck them. They’re pricks with no sense of humor who don’t know how to fuck.”
“What do you mean?” He motioned for me to drink more water.
I took another gulp and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my coat.
“No guy I’ve ever fucked has gotten me off! And it’s not because I don’t know what an orgasm is. My vibrator gets a lot of work.”
It took a delayed moment for the burning realization of the detour our conversation had gone down. When it finally smacked me upside the head, I wanted to explode from the trauma. Fiery hot embers of embarrassment simmered in my stomach.
What are you doing Poppy?!?
I looked at Summoner, who sat quietly. He watched me with a calm smile. But as always, his eyes flickered with something I couldn’t quite make out. I groaned and slumped my head onto the countertop.
“How much have you had to drink tonight, Poppy?” he laughed softly.
“…A lot. I usually don’t really drink much.”
He laughed again. “I never would have guessed.”
Summoner sat down his water bottle and stood up.
His hand rested on the countertop. My depression grew restless from the box I placed it in.
There was an ache inside of me. An ache that made weak people like me do stupid things.
I reached across the counter and grabbed Summoner’s hand.
He didn’t push me away. He stilled. My heart pounded.
Rhythmic repetition. Hard and fast. Forcefully blood rushed through my body.
My hand caressed his. My eyes closed, and I attempted to commit everything to memory.
The ridges of roughness. The evidence of his craft carved into his body.
The valleys of soft skin between his knuckles.
The flat smoothness across his nail beds.
The thick bed of muscle around his thumb.
Lines. So many lines. A lifetime of songs and melodies born in this man’s hands.
I swallowed. My throat bobbed up and down roughly.
This wasn’t anywhere near the vulgarity of my orgasm tangent, yet it felt much more intimate.
I desperately wanted more. My hand fell away from him as I opened my eyes.
Summoner’s gaze was downcast. Silence hung between us. Bravely, he broke it first.
“I’ll have Moore give you a ride home.”