Chain Reaction 3.1.96: Not-so-hidden Emotions

 

Dwight

     Pedro's home again. At last. A month is just too long. That was hard, harder than that time he went to Shang Simla. This last time, he'd gone to work fashion 'week' at Champs les Sims, which, of course, has grown to more than just a week.

 

     After our greetings, he immediately starts launching into how his trip went. It's not that I'm not interested, I am, but I wish he would tell it to me in a way that didn't make himself seem more important than anyone else there. He's not unimportant. I know he's one of the best, but his need to cut everyone else down just to 'prove' it irks me.

     He's waiting for me to tell him how awesome he is. In my humble opinion, he hears that plenty enough. Why does he need to hear it again from me?

     Wait a minute...

     "You wouldn't help Caleb out of a ditch because you were afraid you'd get your shoes muddy?" Damn, how far does his vanity extend?

     His mouth drops. "They weren't 'my' shoes! They were the client's! We have to be careful with those things because we're just borrowing them."

     "He tripped right in front of you and landed in a muddy ditch. I'm assuming he was also wearing the client's clothing."

     "He was! He should've been more careful! Boy, did he ever get in trouble. That's what I'm saying! I didn't slip." He watches me. "And besides, one of the assistants was there eventually."

     I can't hold it in anymore. "Do you have any compassion for your fellow man?"

     He immediately goes on the defensive.

     "How can you ask such a thing? Of course I do. I just don't have any patience for someone who's careless. We're supposed to be the best, and it's our job to make sure we are."

     "Well, heaven help you should you accidentally slip up someday."

     "I have slipped up in the past! And I'll never let myself live it down! I didn't work after that for two months. I do all I can to make sure that never happens again."

      Ugh! "You can't do that to yourself!" He's turned it around again so that all I'm doing is encouraging him instead of damning him. "Setting high standards is one thing, but expecting perfection is an impossible goal."

     He sighs like he's patronizing me now. "At the level I'm at, perfection is my only option. You just don't understand." He walks off downstairs.

     Great. He's finally home, and all we've done is fight. I go and lie down on the bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering how that could've gone better without me being drawn in to his self-centered ego trip.

     Later, he does come up and apologize, but it's an apology that basically means 'I'm sorry you don't understand me, but I love you anyway.' So, not an apology.

     Then we woohoo. That does help, but only so much.

     The next day, Saturday, I'm chatting with Marco about it via a kind of email-chat. I need advice on how to get Pedro to cut the crap since he has experience where that's concerned.

     Marco is trying to convey to me that due to the level of my relationship with him, Pedro needs my support, even if he sounds like a self-centered prat. Somehow, I don't think that will resolve the issue.

     "Well, it's a good thing that Marco agrees that I need your support, but I don't see why you had to talk to him about it," I hear behind me. His whole tone implies 'gotcha.'

      Sonofab*ch. I glare at the wall in front of me as Pedro continues.

      "Oh, and that reminds me. By the way, I hired a friend of a friend to tail you while I was gone. Seems you've been spending some time with our old pal Marco. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't notice you were being tailed. Guess Mike's husband is pretty awesome, at least better than Marco. That, or maybe both of you were either so absorbed into yourselves or each other to care."

      I log off and turn off the screen before I turn to my jackass of a boyfriend.

 

      "You were that insecure that you felt the need to have me tailed by a PI." For now, I'm keeping my anger within. Maybe we can work through this together if I don't explode.

      "Well, I have been gone a lot, and you'd started blowing me off when I'd call. I got suspicious when I was in Shang Simla, so I thought I'd hire Darrin this time around. And good thing too, or I wonder if I'd ever have heard about your little date."

      "It wasn't a date," I growl. No matter how much Marco acted like he might've wanted it to be one. 

      "That's not how it looked to him."

      "Well, I can't help how he chose to interpret it because it wasn't a date!"

      He mimics me like a child, "It wasn't a date!" He makes a 'tuh' noise. "Yeah right. It'd take an idiot to miss seeing how Marco wants in your pants. So I'll accept that, yeah, maybe you have missed it, but I honestly didn't expect to have to take you for an idiot."

      I'm having a harder time keeping a lid on my temper now.

      "What's wrong with me wanting to have a friendship outside of our relationship?!" My teeth are clenched.

      "A friendship is fine... but not with him."

      I see red. "No, Pedro. You don't get to dictate who I am and am not friends with."

      "He wants more than friendship."

      "Too plumbing bad!"

      "So you have noticed."

      "I'd wondered, but that's as far as that was going to go because I'm loyal to you!" I get up.

 

     "Oh you're 'loyal' to me? The only thing you're 'loyal' about is pointing out my flaws!"

     "What?" That's ridiculous.

     "I never hear anything good from you! Just once I'd like to hear how you might think something I picked out goes with my eyes! Or how my hair might look good. Or how proud of me you are that I'm so successful!"

     "Pedro, you hear all that stuff all the time. Why do you need it so badly?"

     "Because, as you so 'cleverly' pointed out to me, I'm insecure! I was bullied as a child. You know that! All I can hear in my head is all the hurtful things they said to me, how they'd throw mud at my face, how they would literally kick me when I was down! It's a constant battle, and it would really help to have my boyfriend, the one I need it from most, to contradict them."

     "And I do tell you those things. I'm not going to do it all damn day just to feed your ego."

     "My ego?!" He gets right in my face.

     "MY ego?" he repeats. "I'm not the only one here with an ego." His voice goes up in pitch as he continues, "Oh, look at me! I'm Dwight! I'm so smart! I can figure you out and fix all your problems if you just change everything about yourself."

     My jaw drops. "I've never said anything like that!"

     "Maybe not, but you sure act it. And since you never say anything, I've always had to read your actions."

     "I say stuff! I've been trying all along to help you with your insecurities!"

     "Well, you suck at it! And for that matter, how is going out with Marco supposed to help my insecurities?"

     Again, he's turned it around on me, making it seem like everything is my fault. My mind quickly plays out how the whole rest of our relationship could go should it survive this argument. His narcissism will drive me to the point where I'll bow and scrape just to keep him happy, and I might lose myself in the process. If there's someone out there that might be able to help him, it's me, but I don't think he'll accept it. Besides, according to him, I 'suck' at it.

     My teeth clench again. "I have made it clear to him that I'm loyal to you. He's made it clear to me he's not trying to break us up."

     "Which is exactly what he'd say if he were.

 

     "But if you'd rather have him than all this." He gestures to himself. "Be my guest. Don't let me stand in your way."

     "Are you even listening to me anymore?" I watch him roll his eyes. "And let's not forget the fact that you hired someone to spy on me! Don't you trust me?"

     "After everything I've been through, no. You were starting to show the same signs, and I see I was right."

      "Oh, I don't believe this! I'm not them. I'm not Hugh or anyone else you used to date. But, since apparently I suck at making you feel better about yourself, maybe I'm just wasting both of our times."

      "What are you saying?" His voice shakes now.

      "I'm saying I can't do this anymore."

     "You're breaking up with me?" His scowl etches onto his face. "Then you are just like them."

     "Maybe the problem doesn't lie with them, doesn't lie with us. If this keeps happening to you, maybe you should wonder why the next time you spend an hour staring at yourself in the mirror... or look at the million pictures of yourself you have displayed in a tacky manner all over the house."

     "Get. Out. Now."

     "I'm taking Lula Belle."

     He swallows a pout. "Fine. I couldn't keep her anyway. Just stab the knife a little deeper why don't you? Get out of my house. Get out of my life. Just GET OUT!"

     I glare. "Nothing would make me happier."

     I go upstairs and pack all my clothing in my inventory. I don't bother taking any pictures, but I am sure to get my bunny statuette. Then I pick up Lula Belle and exit the house.

     That's a year of my life I won't get back.

     Libbie whines in my arms. I turn to her, "It's okay, sweetheart. We're just moving."
     Once in the car, I call my mom and ask if I could stay there for a few days while I make some adjustments. She says that of course I can.

 

     I can't believe I'm back here. Again.

     "Pedro and I broke up," I tell her with a pout once all the greetings are finished.

     My brother Emmett says from where he sits on the couch, "Good. I never liked him anyway." Due to some strange alien thing, he's still a teenager, like his life suddenly slowed down, and he's going through a rebellious phase where he refuses to put on his human disguise. He, in turn, also has rebelled against any kind of alien clothing. I see it as simply an identity crisis, and he'll work through it.

     Mom turns to him. "Emmett, that's not nice."

     He doesn't look concerned. "You're right. It's not." Then he puts his feet on the coffee table and leans back, continuing to watch whatever is on the TV right now.
     She turns back to me. "Are you hungry?"

     I sigh. "I could eat."

     Nodding, she turns to the kitchen. "Emmett, it's your bedtime."

     "I'm twenty-five in human years! I don't have to have a bedtime," he says with the tone of having to make this argument every night.

     "You have class in the morning."

     He rolls his eyes, well, what I would assume rolling his eyes would look like. Then he turns off the TV, gets up, squeezes my arm as he goes by in a sympathetic way, and stomps up the stairs.

     I go take his spot on the couch.

     Did I make the right decision? What if I didn't? Would Pedro forgive me? Do I want to go back to him? Does he feel as plumbed as I do right now?

      He's probably already out at a club, hitting on whoever looks at him like a piece of meat. 

     I check my phone. Nothing.

 

     "Thanks, Mom." Grilled cheese. It makes me think of Marco. That's what he made for me on the hellish night I met him, a night that miraculously turned out okay, great even, thanks to him.

      I wonder what he'll make of Pedro and me breaking up. 

     "You're welcome. And I went ahead and got Lula Belle a dish set up."

      I thank her again. "Is Dad home?"

      "Oh, I thought you'd already spoken to him. Yes. He's out on the porch painting."

      I turn and look. Sure enough, Dad is out there with his earbuds in, staring at the canvas. It's his go-to de-stresser.

      "Hey, Dad."

      "Set me free, why don'tcha babe? Get out my life, why don'tcha baby?"

      "Dad!"

      "Cuz you don't really love me, ya just keep me hangin' on." He sings in a kind of high-pitched voice, completely oblivious to the rest of the world.

      "Dad!" I yell as loudly as our neighbors can tolerate.

      He jumps and turns while taking out his earbuds. "Hey! When did you arrive?"

      I start explaining everything to him, and the more I explain, the angrier I get.

     "Whoa! Hold on," he interrupts when I start repeating myself, my voice rising to near-hysterics.

     "What do I DO?" I can barely see straight, and my arms feel like lead.

     "First of all, take a step back. Now, listen, once you've had a chance to collect yourself, there is no one out there I would trust more to make a solid decision. But first, you have to take some time and get some rest."

     I take a deep breath, my eyelids starting to droop. "Okay."

     He tells me we can talk more later, but he thinks I'm not myself at the moment. He's right about that.

     "Hi, room," I tell it when I walk in. I never bothered redecorating any time I've moved back home for whatever reason, so it still looks the same as when I was eight.

     Then I take off my glasses, turn off the light, lie down, and let myself cry.

Marco

 We broke up. He's all yours just like you wanted. >:P

   

     That bastard. What game is he trying to pull? 

     Pedro just sent me a text, but I don't know if I can trust it.

WTF? What crap are you dishing out now? 

You've been dying to get him back for ages, don't think I don't know. Well, looks like you got your wish because we're through.  He went to his parents' house.

     I stare at my phone. It's obvious Pedro is really hurt if I'm reading the tone of the text correctly. So why tell me? Is it that he thinks he'll win if I jump at this chance and head over to the Foster household and beg to speak to Dwight? Fine. I'll feed right into his insecurities.

Good. 

     I grin and laugh, imagining his open-jawed expression, and as soon as I finish my paperwork, I fly to my boss's house.

     He sees me and sighs while closing his eyes, looking --odd-- in normal clothes. I put on a friendly smile, praying he doesn't tell me outright to shove off.

 

     I do my best to act casual. "Hey, Chief. How's it hangin'?" F--k, that sounded awful. I maintain my smile, though, while he watches me like now he's certain I'm in love with his son. This is an awkwardness I knew I was going to have to deal with one day, and it's every bit as terrible as I imagined it'd be.

     His eyes narrow. "Please tell me you turned everything in to Joan and didn't just dash over here without finishing it." Joan handles all the paperwork organization, brilliantly I might add.

     "Of course it's done! Dotted every 'i' and crossed every 't.'" Keep smiling. F--k. How do I ask if I can speak to Dwight without sounding pathetic? I'd sort of imagined on my way over here that Dwight would answer the door, making this infinitely easier.

     Chief Foster steps out onto the porch more fully while I still stand here, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. He closes the door behind him--like he's putting up a shield, a barrier I'd have to pass through in order to talk to his son.

     "He's upstairs in his room sleeping," he offers up before I can ask. "He's had a sh*t day, but I'm guessing you already know that."

     "Uh, yeah. A little dickhead told me." Yes, Chief. I'm more than just his old housemate. I'm in love with him. I'm gay. Thing is, he doesn't look TOO surprised.

 

     I sigh and drop the stupid smile. "Look, I just want to know if he's okay." And I didn't want to call or text.

     Foster watches me. "He's bordering hysterical right now. I told him to go lie down."

     "Oh." Crap. I shift my weight again. "Could I... Could I talk to him?" Please? Someone needs to shake it out of him and make him realize once and for all that Pedro isn't right for him. I watch Foster. He looks like he wants to deny my request. "Could you at least go ask him if he'd come down?" Or could I go up? That'll work too.

     He sighs. "Fine. I'll ask him."
 

     I'd moved to the side porch, hoping to see Dwight walk down the stairs. However, it's just his dad, and I hear Foster walking up behind me, his footsteps heavy.

 

     He starts telling me what I'd anticipated when I saw only him come down the stairs. "He says he's still too upset to talk to anyone right now, that he appreciates your concern, though. My advice is give it a few days."

     I sigh. "Well," I sort of shrug, "I had to try, right?" If I were any more obvious, I'd have to paint it on my face.

     His hand reaches out and lightly squeezes my upper arm. "It'll be okay. Just give him time."

     Wait. Does this mean he's in my corner? "Thanks. I will. Uh, see you at work."

     He gives me a stationary hand wave as a dismissal, and I walk down their front sidewalk.

     I don't want to leave. I don't want to walk away!

     I want to climb the side of the house to get to his window. I want to throw stupid pebbles at the window to get his attention. I want to do all that lame teenager crap you see in movies.
     But I don't.

     Instead, I walk down the sidewalk to a small park. A bench calls my name.

 

      Now I can sit here and stare at his house like a creepy bastard. I'm not trying to be creepy. I just know he's hurting and can't stand it. I'll go home in a minute.

     Why Dwight? As in, why did it have to be Dwight? Why couldn't I just stay happy with the continuous stream of meaningless relationships? I was making it work. No one got close to me. Other than that slight issue with Darrin, I never spent my time mooning over someone. AND, it's not like Dwight and I had much time together when all is said and done. How did it happen?

     I let out a puff of air. I've got no f--king clue. I check the time on my phone. Hm... phone. 

      I keep it simple.

I'm here if you need me. 

 

      There. I can go home now. I won't pester him, but I had to do something.

      I jump when my phone bleeps at me.

Well, I can't sleep any more now, you jerk. :) 

 

     I smile. He's not upset. Not really. That's why he was sure to include the smiley face.

 

Sorry I couldn't just do nothing.

He told you, didn't he? 

     I scowl. I don't want to talk about him. I'd rather talk about just Dwight himself. Still...

Good guess.

 

Figures. We had a fight. About you. He'd hired a PI to tail me, and that guy said we went on a date while he was in Champs les Sims.

     What the f--k?!

What idiot thought that was a date? 

     Of course, I'd wanted it to be one, but neither was I an idiot myself by thinking it could've been.

Mike Taylor's husband, apparently. 

     Darrin. I could punch Darrin in the face for this. But then, actually... maybe I should hug him a thank you. He fed right into Pedro's insecurities with hopefully-in-my-favor results. After all, they did break up. And Darrin read me like a book. The very fact I never noticed him says something about where my attention was focused. All it was was bowling! That's it! We were just two guys out having a good time. Maybe the way Darrin reported it to Pedro made Pedro jump to the date conclusion. 

I'm sorry I ruined everything. 

     Well, it's partly true. I am sorry he's hurting and that it's probably my fault.

Who says you "ruined" everything? The more I think on it, the more I'm convinced he and I were headed towards this anyway.

I just couldn't make him happy. 

      I catch myself breathing a sigh of relief.

      Oh, I want so badly to tell him he could make me happy. He wouldn't even have to try. Now that I've gotten over myself and my commitment thing (yes, I've had lots of time to think), all he'd have to do is give me another chance, be himself. But I'd better save that for later.

Some people prefer to be miserable. It's safer. 

     I smile. Huh. Like me. Well, me in the past.

Do you speak from experience? 

     Hah! He knows me so well. 

 

Of course I do, and it took me too long to realize how safer isn't always better. 

 

     Please understand what I'm also not saying. Surely he does. I don't need to actually go there, tell him how I feel. That might be tacky at this point.

     He stays quiet for a long amount of time on his end, and I start to wonder if he'd gone back to sleep.

     It's fine. At least I got to touch on it, letting him know by almost saying it how I regret pushing him away. He can read the text when he wakes up and think about it then.

     I turn my phone off and get ready to stand up and head home. Then my phone makes me jump for the second time tonight.

 

I'm sorry I hurt you. 

 

     WHAT?! Oh, f--k no, don't think that.

     Sh*t.  

 

 WTF? Don't think that. 

 

     Crap. This doesn't need to be about me.

 

Get some rest. We'll talk later. 

 

But that day in the park. Was my guess right? What you wanted to say, I mean. 

 

     F--k.

 

     He's backed me into a corner, but my only fear now is that the timing sucks. Still, he's asking this after breaking up with his boyfriend of pretty much a year. He wants reassurance, I think.

Well, I don't know what your guess WAS.

 

But yes.

 

Now get some rest. 

 

     Of course, he doesn't listen.

 

Is it still true? 

     I picture him staring at his phone, expecting me to evade the question.

     Well, he asked... 

 

Yes.

 

Good night, Dwight.