When Love Is Bitter (6) (Patreon)

(A/N: You guys wanted Joseph to be happy, and eventually he will be.   There's one aesthetic hint somewhere in this that will show you who I plan to have bring him that happiness. ;))

Half is half.

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And half is precisely what I feel like, half-whole and dazed, thoughts skittering back to Nic's barely there touches; the way his grip didn't tend to linger for long, and the way his eyes shifted about my room, to the blinds, to my toolbelt on the dresser, to everything but me when he came. I also think about how far we slept apart that night, what time he might have left, what in the absolute hell he must've been thinking.

I think too much.

'Next time,' doesn't come, and I wonder what that means for us.

"Did I agree to breakfast plans with a bunch of zombies or what?"

Weeks pass without another touch or talk of it, and Nic ships out to scope out apartments with his friends for college. In his absence, I realize that I spend more time overthinking and fretting over our encounter than I do feeling pleased that it happened at all. Maybe half would have been okay, but it isn't, and it's not the half that I want.

"Yoo-hoo, earth to Joseph!"

I recheck my phone, hoping that between last week and this week — Nicolai will text about something aside from video games, baseball scores, or photos of his college campus. At least something that reflected that he was aware that I'd gotten him off on my bedsheets and he'd left the same bed, me still sleeping in it, without another word. Maybe something to signify that he felt anything about that at all.

"Ellis? Seth?"

Unfortunately, there are no texts at all this time; nothing but a picture posted to Mebook at three am, a blurry shot of a frat-house party, Nic's grin brighter with the blacklight, and a woman's bangled arm thrown over his shoulder. She's tagged accordingly, and in the comments, she leaves behind a cute kissing emoji, one that Nic returns.

My stomach sinks.

"Well, this is invigorating, you absolute fuckheads." Anna snipes around a mouthful of eggs. I startle to attention, shoving my offending phone back into my pocket as if it's just scorched my hand. "Who pissed in your coffee, Joseph?" She's glaring, and slouching next to her is Seth, whose eyes slide across the marks on the wood table, knicks, and scores from standard Jameson diner wear and tear with disinterest.

"No one. Just," I shrug. "Coffee sucks today."

She hums, glancing back between the trio around her.  She doesn't appear too pleased with the daze that we're all in, and rolls her eyes to make sure that I know just that.

"Why is everyone pouting today?" Anna shoulders Ellis playfully, who, with a hoody draped over his thin shoulders and sporting a freshly shaved head, is as awkward and close to blending in with the wallpaper as ever. He only blinks, sends another cautious glance towards Seth, who ignores it, and then smiles pitifully back at Anna's jest. Anna pinches his cheek quickly, manicured finger sliding off just in time to jut at me,

"Smile for me." She purrs, "even if it's as weak as Ellis', I need something.  I'm soakin' up all y'all's negativity and it's stressin' me the fuck out."

"I'm not poutin'." I gripe because no answer has sprung forth from anyone else. My interest is piqued by just how quiet everyone is. "Just seein' what Nic is up to."

"Nic, again?" Seth sighs, moved to commenting just by his pure distaste of the Abernathy family. "It's eight am. It's too early for your fuckin' pining."

My hackles raise, ready to be roasted. Seth's smile is as smarmy and vulgar as always, wide and wolf-like, and he lifts his eyes from the marks to catch mine.

"Do you need a trip down to Huxley to get him off your mind, or what?" 

"Seth."  Ellis' says quietly, and his shoulders tense, like he's suddenly found cause to take part of the conversation, leaning forward to somehow catch Seth's attention.  "Just.  Leave him be."

Seth continues to ignore him, lounges back in his seat as his hand interlaces with Anna's.  Ellis pales, shifts back into place, and begins to play with his hoody strings.

Something is definitely not right.

"Yeah, Seth.  Don't be so crude," Anna's face scrunches in disgust, and she picks at her breakfast with one hand, the other wrapped loosely in Seth's, and Ellis' doe eyes are as despondent as ever whenever he cautiously glances their way. "And Joseph, do better."

—

Two weeks past. Two weeks closer to Nic shipping off for college, and I'm perfectly aware that I'm moping. 

"Aromanticism,"

Anna slaps down a pamphlet on the kitchen counter in front of me,  barely shrugs off her sleek leather jacket before she crosses her legs over the barstool in front of her.

"I know you called me for coffee," she pops her gum, leaning her cheek heavily into her manicured hand, "but I thought I'd educate you, so you could educate your little crush because I'm sick of you staring moodily off into the distance like you're some Kalvin Kline model."

"Aromatics?"  I blink slowly, eyes still adjusting to the light flooding the blinds, "Jesus... How early do you wake up?"

"Save the blasphemy.  Seth drug me to church today, which means he's feelin' guilty about somethin', and I'm trying to figure out what that is. I'm a busy woman,"  She's snagging a donut out of the paper box that accompanied her into my home, glancing around in an obvious search of a napkin to place her chewing gum, "and it's aromantic, how are you so behind on our terminology?" She sighs, taps the paper again, "There's also one on gray-romanticism, but I think this one will give you less unnecessary hope."

"The fuck is that," my interest piques, but I haven't reached for the pamphlet, pulling the warm Jameson Café cup from its sleeve instead, "is that a car scent?"  I raise my brow, and she smacks her gum in perfect unison to the roll of her eyes, "Maybe he just got in another fight."

"It wasn't a fight; I know my man. Also, don't ask me what aromantic is when I've literally brought you a bulleted list, Joseph.  I just sang five hymns off-key via nineties slide projector because I didn't know the words, and I am not in the mood," She snorts when I chuckle at that, the picture painted vividly in my imagination. "Go on, educate thyself."

"Does the Pride center have a pamphlet for everything now?"  I smirk, flipping the purple booklet open, "What does this have to do with Nicolai?" Anna is busy reapplying a deep purple lipstick, one that I'm not above thinking still suits her.

"Of course they do, it's a place for acceptance and understanding," she crosses her hands under her chin, her silliness vanishing into admonishment, "if you were any fun, you'd come with me and help out at the fairgrounds this year."

"Yeah, and let word get back to my mother," I nod, "great idea."

An aromantic person does not experience romantic attraction.  This is not to be confused with asexuality. Although you can be asexual and aromantic, many aromantic individuals feel sexual or aesthetic attraction.

I glance up at Anna, who nods and sips her coffee coolly. She tries to stay blasé about the way my eyes retrack over the first paragraph, but she frowns a little at my grimace.

"What is this about?" I say, finally, but I know exactly what this is about. She sighs, tilting her head a bit as she blows at the opening of the lid of her coffee. "Anna."

"Look," she shrugs a little at me, "I saw Nic snag one of these pamphlets up at a rally two weeks ago. For someone so dopey, he sure spent a lot of time staring at it. Could mean somethin'. Figured if it did, you'd know exactly what."

I'm quiet, frowning,

"This ain't it." I shake my head. "This is, whatever you're thinking, you're dealing with a player, not a — not this.  Too early for this."

"Why don't you let him choose his identity?" Her last words are weighted like if they were printed across a page, they'd be bolded, highlighted— Annalise Egbe, the queen of withering stares, is bordering on delivering one to me.

"Why don't you?"  I fire back, more heat than intended.  She only sighs louder.

"Or, better yet, why don't you just ask him why he wants to fuck but not date?  Simple as that."

I can't argue with that.  So I turn my attention back to the pamphlet.

You may be aromantic if you feel no desire to date, you have difficulty distinguishing romantic feelings from friendly feelings, you've never had a crush on someone and have doubted if love and crushes exist,

'I thought butterflies were made up.'

I pick the pamphlet off the counter and turn to face the stove, hands trembling a little with, oh — it should be guilt. But it's mostly disappointment — mostly denial. That makes it worse.

"Well, fuck," I whisper. I shake my head, shake my head, and grab my cup of coffee and try to take a measured sip.  I turn back to Anna with a storm cloud in my vision.  "What is this? Why'd you bring it here?  This is — it's fuckin' stupid is what it is."

"Um, excuse me?" Anna tilts her head, eyebrows gathering just enough that now I'm on the receiving end of one of her glares, "Care to elaborate? To normally be so accepting, you sure aren't acting like it."

"Nic is a player.  It isn't about, you know," I wave to the offending, folded paper in front of me, something that makes too much sense to be wrong, "he's just gotta find the right person.  I'm just tryin' to be that right person."

It may even bore or annoy you to talk about romantic love, and you also can't seem to understand why finding someone physically attractive would bring you to want a committed relationship with them.

Anna bristles, popping the metal cap back onto her lipstick. She shoves it into her bag.

"And if I find the right one, I'll just suddenly want to spread my legs, right?" Anna's tone is downright poisonous, "That's what my auntie says. Seth must not be the one, because I'm not ripping off my panties at the thought of him? I don't have silly little sex stories to share with my girlfriends, so I must not be in love. My feelings aren't valid, either."

"That's not what I mean,"  I hiss, "and I can't just go asking him why he wants me to fuck him but won't hold my hand — same reason you're diggin' around instead of just askin' Seth what the fuck he's done this time. Don't act all high and mighty."

The words come out harsher than I mean them too.  Maybe truer than I mean them too, as well.

Anna shrugs her purse back onto her shoulder, heels clicking against the dining room floor as she pulls herself off of her stool with more grace than anger should allow,

"I'm going. I'm not mad at you because I love you, and you're too far gone on your delusion to be respectful, but I'm not bringing you coffee again until you apologize."

She flips her ringed curls over her shoulder and departs, shutting the door softly behind her.

I groan, chucking the pamphlet into the corner of the wall.