UNDER PRESSURE

               You’re going to have a great time. You’re going to have a great time. You’re going to have… It seemed like the more she said the little white lie in her head the more she strayed from actually believing it. It’s not like she really wanted to say yes to this date, anyways. She couldn’t come up with a fast excuse at the time- blame it on the alcohol. She was going to be there anyways, watching her brother play ball for the school he went to. It felt impossible to tell the guy no, so she went for and claimed it an adventure.

                Turned out to be an adventure she wasn’t too fond of.

                The man was so vapid, going on and on about himself and barely giving himself a chance to catch his breath. She began to wonder if he even remembered her name, especially since he kept calling her babe.

                 The more he talked, the hungrier she got. Yeah, she got hungry when she was bored. She excused herself and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress before climbing up the steps to the top. When she glanced up, she saw someone coming her way. Her eyebrows rose and before she could speak, he was suddenly pushing her out of the way. Of course, her instinct was to be angry or push the guy right back. But it wasn’t until he cried out in pain that she realized what he had done.

                 “Holy shit!” she exclaimed going to him. “Jesus.. are you okay? Thanks so much- wow okay your hand looks bad. Let’s find you some ice…”

            SO MANY THINGS HAD RUN MARATHONS THROUGH HIS MIND but at that moment, the most significant thoughts were as follows: god that is my masturbation hand, this hurts too much, when did i learn to speak fluent celtic? in spite of those ever-stinging thoughts ricocheting through his head, one stuck out the most like your first ever boner in class. ( god, joseph, get your mind of off penises ) it, ladies and gentlemen, was the fact that this girl - this girl he’d just pretty much taken a bullet for - was goddamn gorgeous. 

            and while it might have been that shady hash that harry potter ( no, he’s being serious, there’s a guy who sells weed around school under the alias harry potter) sold him and the boys earlier, he’s pretty sure - if he’s ever going to be sure about anything in his life - that this girl is the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. he’s met gisele bundc - bunch... bundchen. right? 

            so, the thought of pain is completely erased from his mental agenda, and before you know it, like it didn’t even happen at all, joey’s back to his devastatingly charming self, chuckling off the searing pain of his hand. 

                “ ice? what? no. i’m - i’m great. honestly, it’s just like soccer practice. “

Her younger self would be screaming at her, slapping her own damn face if she saw what Chey was doing. Normally, she wouldn’t allow herself to be stuck in a situation like this. Wouldn’t allow herself to feel guilty. Wouldn’t allow herself to be treated like this. But god, she loved him. That’s the oldest excuse in the book, isn’t it? She loved him and that’s all she could remember in moments like this.

Instead of speaking, she just nods and holds the ghost of a smile. It’s soft, quiet, much like her now. Shuffling through the fridge, she decided on making him some eggs. And thank god for the way they hit the frying pan, because without that sizzle, the silence would be deafening.

he can’t stand it. the silence is deafening. it’s not even a silence; it’s a constant ringing, a auditory ache of the need to apologize and to have her close again. to just mend things and bring them back to the way they used to be. that can’t be so hard, can it? though the words are flowing through his head, they can’t pull out of his lips. he’s trying. he sighs. 

       their backs are faced against each other as she starts fixing the eggs. 

he takes one final sobering sip of coffee before he stands. probably smells a little bit like liquor, though he hopes that most of that has faded with his sleep, what little of it he got last night. wordlessly, he walks up behind her, arms wrapping around her middle. she might not want him there, but he’s still there. 

       “ i’m sorry. “ he decides to say. “ i can’t stand us like this and i need            you to forgive me. i didn’t mean anything i said last night. i was fuckin’            hammered and pissed. “

Maybe she just imagined that things could be okay again. It was a new day, a new morning, but she could still taste that bitterness in his tone. Their fights never end, at least they don’t anymore. When they were younger, they’d get frustrated but do what they can to mend things back together. Now, it’s like they just walked over the broken pieces of themselves. Hard to fix something that’s too far gone.

         “I’d rather you be here than somewhere else,” she admits, her voice softer than before. It’s          like she’s afraid to even speak, and that’s because she is. No matter          what she says, no matter what she does, it leads to fire being spit back and forth. She was          tired of getting burned.

“Do you want something to eat?”

At least she tries to change the subject. It’s a poor attempt.

she’s probably wondering where he’s been all night. her voice makes him feel guilty for something he didn’t do. it’s not like heCHEATED or anything, god forbid. didn’t even kiss anyone. just drowned sorrows and soaked in what momentary solace vodka and tequila could provide him. once the cup of coffee is cool enough, he takes a sip.

             “ sorry. -- yeah, i could use something. i don’t mind if it’s cereal, either. “

he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to taste anything guilt-free, though he hopes he’ll at least be able to stomach something down. he looks up at her and her gaze is evasive, like he’d said the most disgusting things to her last night. 

           in retrospect, perhaps he did. 

She hardly slept. All night she waited for him to come home, waited to talk to him like a rational person. Maybe she was going to apologize, even though she didn’t know what she had to apologize for. It’s funny because she wanted to be away from him, yet as she laid in that bed, she felt so cold without him there. It didn’t make sense and maybe that’s what hurt her the most. They never made sense.

The sun was up, but she was still down, tucked under the covers to only watch the sunlight streak against the wall. When she heard the front door open, her heart jumped a little. She didn’t want to be happy that he was home, she didn’t even want to care. She climbed out of bed and pulled on a loose cardigan before walking out and leaning against the doorframe. What was she supposed to say?

           “You didn’t come home…” she stated softly.

by the time she comes out from wherever she’s hiding, he’s sat down at the kitchen table. there’s a cup of coffee on top of the place mat, steaming, though it’s not freshly brewed or anything. it’s instant. and joseph thinks it’s strange how little crystals of flavoring can come so close to the real thing, but he figures that our mind likes to trick itself like that. he sighs deeply. 

fragments of last night linger in his mind. to be honest with you, he’s too hungover to remember it all, though it’s prominent as one consecutive blur. bottom line, the most important thing is that they fought and when were they not fighting, these days. he reaches over for the cup, though feels it’s too hot in his hand. his fingertips just graze along the top of it. 

              “ would it be crazy to say that i didn’t feel welcome? “

And now she was hurt, feeling like the smallest thing in the world. He was able to make her feel like the most important thing on this earth, but it seemed to be easier for him to make her feel like she was n o t h i n g. No one should feel this way, and no one should make someone feel this way. But here they were again. She’s lost count of their fights.

        “Why is everything so goddamn dramatic with you? You’re like a teenage girl,” she bursts        out, not letting herself hold back. Let people stare. Fuck it. “You’re such a fucking asshole.”

And with that and tears in her eyes, she snatched her purse from the ground and walked away. The last place she wanted to go was home, and besides, she wasn’t all too sure where that was. This city was too big. This city was too confusing. This city wasn’t hers.

           “if anyone’s acting like a goddamn kid around here, it’s you --                            and you know that.”

his words are laced with venom although his back’s turned to her. the distance between them should say enough; he’s had it with this. can’t stand it anymore. if she wants to be away, wants to be far from him, then that’s exactly where he’ll push her. no more trying to make everything work. nothing works. no more trying to make things better. nothing’s better. she’s made it clear: no matter what he does, she’s never going to want this life. 

            he lets her walk away, which is a mistake, but he doesn’t know             what else to do.

She pulls her feet out of the water and sets her beer to the side. Suddenly, she felt almost sick to stay there a second longer. He thinks he did her a favor by bringing her to these things, did her a favor by bringing her to New York. He didn’t bring her to New York. She went there for him. She went there for them. But he never sees that. It’s almost like it’s such a burden for him to stay in their relationship. And maybe it is.

         “I’m not saying you don’t look after me,” she protests, pushing herself off the ground,          “All I’m fucking saying is that I’m not having a good time. This is the first time we’ve talked          all night, and forgive me if I’m not having a good time. Sometimes my definition of fun isn’t         the same as yours, Joseph. God forbid.”

       “well, fucking hell. i’m sorry for being a selfish fucking prick and dragging          you out like this. god forbid i ever take you out again, right? since you’re so         goddamn miserable, fuckin’ go home. see if i give a damn.” 

he’s spitting her words right back at her. such is the fury boiling in the pit of his stomach as he stands, not defeated, though surrendering from a war he never agreed to fight. the party’s too loud inside for anyone to hear outside, though when he turns to face the home, he sees familiar faces through the screen door of the kitchen, worried expressions fixed on the couple fighting. he stands with his back faced to her; he sighs. 

       “i’m staying. you can fuck off for all i care.”

And that’s what she hated the most. Anytime she seemed to speak her mind instead of taking the easy way out, it bites her in the ass. Her words always somehow get twisted, an arrow suddenly pointed back to her even if it wasn’t supposed to. And sometimes he makes her feel like he’s right. Sometimes she believes that she’s always at fault, and it’s about the worst feeling someone can feel.

          “Excuse me?” she says suddenly, looking over at him with a hint of hurt on her features.          “You’re constantly partying, constantly with your new friends. So if it seems like I’m barely          there, it’s because you’re not looking.”

         “you can’t say something like that. i took you out tonight, didn’t i?”

and he hates when she gets this way. he never really thinks he ever gives her a reason to be this way, though that might just be because he tends to think in his own narrow space of mind. as considerate as he tries to be, sometimes he just can’t get it right, but he could’ve sworn it felt right this time. that it was all falling into place. they’d finally settled into new york and started to be something. how could she feel like she didn’t belong? 

        “i brought you ought here to new york. i stayed with you. i made sure you          stayed with me. how could you say i don’t look after you? get fuckin’ real, chey.”

This wasn’t the time or place to fess up what’s been going on in her head. If anything, her old habits were kicking in. All the insecurities she thought she lost after high school came pouring back in. It was this place and the way she felt in it. Like she didn’t belong. Like she didn’t matter. In college, she felt so invincible like she had finally found herself and the person she was meant to be. But then she pushed that aside and moved to a place that never even crossed her mind. It felt like starting all over again and she was exhausted.

     “Nothing’s wrong,” she protests, “I just… don’t feel like I belong here. You have all your      friends, and I don’t know. I just feel like I’m crowding you.”

he’s bothering with the collar of his jacket; it suddenly feels a bit too restraining, like he’s a dog with a leash that keeps shocking him if he strays too far. ( but he’s always kept close, hasn’t he? ) he shakes his head and looks over at her. blame it on the alcohol or just sobering up, but he’s thinking things he doesn’t mean, and sure enough they’ll come spilling from his mouth; broken bottles. 

         “crowding me?” he echoes. 

“the last thing you’re doing is crowding me. honestly, sometimes, it feels like you’re barely even there - so you couldn’t be crowding me.” he doesn’t know what’s on his tongue, but it’s starting to taste like remorse. 

She doesn’t want him to come back with her, and she’s not too sure why. A part of her doesn’t want to ruin his night, but the other might have just needed some space. It’s hard to think when she’s around him, and sometimes that was a good thing. She missed those days when it was, where they’d spend nights listening to music and making out. Nothing else mattered. But they were older now, and life just felt suffocating for her. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

         “No, it’s okay. You stay, have fun. I’m just not feeling up to partying right now.”

a defeated sigh leaves his lips, though he doesn’t give in quite yet. he wishes it was simple; that he could read whatever’s going on in her mind and make her happy. though there’s something about this whole thing that’s difficult for him to understand. he’s having the time of his life, he feels like, and she’s right there with him. what could possibly be going wrong in her head? he shakes his head and looks over at her, bringing his feet up. 

     “babe, i don’t get it. just tell me what’s wrong. there’s obviously something wrong.”

She could lie. She could say she’s not feeling good, say she’s just tired, or make an excuse about waking early in the morning. All the options were right there hanging in the air, but it was all a lie. Lying wasn’t her thing, even though she could do it easily if she so wished. She’s done it before at things like this, and she’s surprised he hasn’t been able to see right through her. She wasn’t used to this city, still completely lost and no clue where she belonged in it. But then she’d take one look at him and see how his heart beats for this place because he was home. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but she can’t remember what home feels like.

            So, she doesn’t lie. Instead, she tells the truth but sugar coats it as much as possible.

            Mustering a smile, she tells him, “No… Not            really. But that’s okay.. I think I’m just going             to head home.”

he looks at his fingernails, cut quite short. he hates to admit it but they’re yellowing a bit; he never used to smoke this much. his fingers look quite odd now. it’s sobering. thick eyebrows furrow as he focuses on the ripples in the water for a moment; he swipes his tongue across his lips before looking over at her, as if he’s unsure of what she’s saying. 

          “you wanna leave?” 

he kicks off his own shoes, socks coming off not long after. he rolls up the cuffs of his jeans and can only dip his feet ankle-deep. he leans back against his palms behind him, shaking his head. 

         “you tired or something? i can go home with you.”