Page 4 of Reluctantly You

Tomorrow is, in fact,notbetter. I find myself lying on the couch, staring at the television, my body limp and sore. I don’t want to move, just want to lie here while my enzymes burst into bits and pieces, leading me to my demise.

If this isn’t depression, then maybe I’m getting sick. Maybe they’ll find me in a few days, my rotten corpse decaying on this sofa. That thought has my eyes watering again, and I push my fists into them, forcing myself to stop being such a fucking pussy.

I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I need to snap the fuck out of it. I need to go back to work so I can pay my bills. Need to go to the gym, so I can stay in shape.

But I don’t care enough about either to get showered and dressed.

I don’t fucking care.

Suddenly, my phone rings and I grapple with it, my fingers slipping on the plastic shell. It tumbles and falls to the ground, and I quickly pick it up, my heart throbbing in my chest.

Is it Matthew?

Max?

Magnus?

My eyes snag on the unknown number, and I let out a pathetic huff. Of course it’s not. It’s just a cold call, a fucking spam line. They’re the only ones in contact with me. The ones who want my money.

I toss my phone onto the floor and go back to staring at the TV. I’ll get up later and try to make myself do something productive. Be a man about this, push my feelings aside and do what needs to be done. Maybe I’ll even find a hookup and let them suck my cock.

But my dick doesn’t even twitch at the thought. It’s dead, like I am on the inside.

I stare at my phone once more, lying there, taunting me. Unused. Maybe I should reach out, maybe I should be the one to try to mend this. But do they even want me to?

Probably not.

No one seems to want me.

“Fuck!” I grind out and then sit up, running a hand through my greasy, unwashed hair. Fuck this. Fuck it all.

I toss a pillow over my phone, not wanting to see my loneliness displayed in front of my face, and make my way into the kitchen, grabbing a beer and popping the top off. I’m gonna have a beer gut at this rate, but I glug it down anyway. Who cares? It’s not like the guys who suck my cock give a shit. They just want to choke on it.

I run a hand across my mouth and stare out the window. It’s dark out now, not even the stars can be seen in the pitch black sky. I could just wander around in the shadows and no one would see me.

“No one ever sees me anyway,” I murmur and then shake my head.

What the fuck am I doing? What the hell is this?

I move toward the door and pull it open, standing there at the entrance to my house and staring out into the blackness.

My heart thumps in my chest, my hand dangling by my side.

No one sees me, no one even knows I’m here. I don’t even know my neighbors’ names or who they are. My entire life is work, cruising, and then back home to sleep.

There was a time when I used to meet with my brothers and play ball, but none of them want to spend time with me anymore. They hate me. They avoid me. They don’t want to be associated with me.

So I’ve stayed home and kept my distance. This is the most I’ve been inside my house all year.

I have no friends, no family.

I havenothing.

My dark, tragic thoughts turn ugly—visions of ropes and rafters. My hand drifts up to my neck and I feel my pulse thrumming wildly beneath my fingertips. For a moment, I lose the ability to breathe, a peace settling over me. Then suddenly a high-pitched mewl resounds below me. I blink through my watery eyes and sniff as I glance down to see a small, orange kitten near my feet. Its tail curls around itself like a cinnamon roll, its blue eyes peering up at me.

“Fuck off,” I murmur, nudging it with my foot.

It tips backward into the dirt and glowers up at me, it’s small white whiskers twitching. It looks almost upset that I did that. Well, welcome to life, asshole. And welcome to me. I’m not nice. Never have been. Never will be. I was born with this innate thing inside of me that makes me ugly and unappealing.