Date: Sun, 11 Jul 2004 21:58:02 -0600 From: Karla Schulz Subject: Carrots and Celery Part Three Chapter 20 I suck. I know this. But you guys should totally rise above my levels of suckery and forgive me and still read the story and possibly be my best friend and throw me an e-mail about it. Feel free to include things along the lines of, 'you suck', because, clearly, this is true. I know I've promised this a million times, but I'm REALLY going to have a shorter time between updates this time. I give you my word as a Spaniard. As always, a huge thank-you to everyone who has written to me. I hope I've made it clear how much that means to me, not just to know that this story has affected people, but also because feedback often causes me to reaccess the story, and look at it from new angles, which at least in theory helps me make the story better. So affectionate punches in the arm all around. My log doesn't judge. --- Waking up beside Colin is a world of weird. I can't remember when we fell asleep, but judging by how incredibly tired and drained I feel, it can't have been too long ago. My check with the clock makes me groan. It's only 7 o'clock in the morning. But on the bright side, no one might be up yet. I shake Colin gently awake. He makes a `mnnhh' sounds and wrinkles his face. "What time is it?" Voice still thick with sleep and gravely. "Early, 7ish." He mirrors my groan of a few seconds ago. "How you doing?" He's barely awake and already he's asking me that. How did Colin become that guy? Why is he here putting up with me? It's always been Celery. Is that actually over? Was his leaving Celery's version of surrendering the title? "I'm just the relief pitcher man," Colin answers my silent questions to myself, starting to sit up. He runs a hand through his hair. "He'll be back. I promise you that. You know him better than me so you've gotta know that too. I could never do his job, and I refuse to try to be him. I'm here being me. I'm not him, and I'm not going to try to be – not even for a little while. But you're my friend – you're like the only friend I've ever had who wasn't like at least 20 years older than me – I've grown rather partial to your company. But I especially enjoy your company when you haven't lost all hope and joy in your life. So I'm just trying to help in a situation I pretty much know there's nothing I can do. Gonna be okay with that?" Somehow I nod. He smiles. I'm starting to forget what it looks like when he isn't doing that sadly. "Just tell me one thing. Is Celery going to bust me up for snaking his boo?" Laughter erupts from somewhere I'd already started to forget about. Colin grins. "Give me a hug bro, then you gotta go like, re-enter the world. Another thing I won't be standing for is you using me to hide from everyone else. There are people out there who've known you considerably longer than me and who love you at least as much – hey I'll admit it, probably a little more. So this one night of sanctuary was what you needed, and I'm honored that I'm the one you chose to let in, but now it's time for the rest, okay?" "You're not going to give me any breaks are you?" "Not the ones I know you can make it without," I hug him, which is my surrender. "Okay, let's do this," I get up, but Colin is still sitting. "Coming?" His face is uncertain. "Uh, I think maybe not. I mean, you need to go down there, and be with your family and everything, but I think it would probably better if I just go out the window, you know?" "No," I say slowly. He sighs. "It just, wouldn't look very good you know? Us walking down together. Plus no one in your family likes me already. This isn't likely to help matters," "If you really want to, you can go, but," I bite my lip, feeling a bit stupid. "I'd really like you to come," that makes up his mind, and he jumps up purposefully. "Down we go." I can't help but smile. When we enter the kitchen together, Jonas and Kyle look positively ready pounce on Colin and begin attacking him with the bare hands. The twins are much of the same. Colin turns to me and sighs. "I told you I should have gone out the balcony." I scowl, but it's not meant for him. "Don't be an idiot," I turn back to the glowering hordes. "That goes for you too. The only reason I'm not still locked in my room sobbing my heart out is because of Colin. He's my friend so you all had better start treating him with a little more respect." I glare at them definitely, daring them to speak out against what I've said. "Carrots, don't tell me it's true," Kyle begs weakly. "I mean, what Celery's been thinking... you're not actually--" "No of course not. That's just stupid. We're FRIENDS. Like hello - he's straight," "Like for real straight, not pretend like you guys." He says to Kyle and Jonas. Okay, so there's a reason they don't like him. Still. They glare at him for awhile, but then, I'm guessing because they caught the lost miserable look on my face, Jonas and Kyle elect to ignore Colin and reach out to me. "I'm like so much more sorry and sad about all this then I can't even think about," Kyle says to me, putting his hand on my shoulders. I nod. "I'm really," I just hug him, knowing Jonas is dying, with no way to end that sentence. He hugs me back gratefully. "Don't kill me or anything, but I've got to say this," I look over to Kyle, waiting. He sighs. "It's gonna be okay. Somehow, I swear." I haven't even like an ounce of the strength to nod, but I hold an arm out to him, making it a three-way group hug between me, Jonas and Kyle. When we let go, Colin is out in the hall, already in his shoes, but he had them from upstairs. "Leaving?" I ask, following him out. He nods. "Yeah. They've got you covered for now," I sort of scrinch my face and Colin puts a hand on my shoulder. "I can't get you through this alone, you're going to need all the help you can get. Don't turn it down when any kind of help is offered. You know better than any of us how hard it's going to be for you to even get through the next couple days, so let people help you, alright?" "Yeah, alright." He gives me a quick hug. "I'll see you again soon." "I don't think I'm going to be able to make it to school today," He exhibits no surprise. "I think taking a bit of time off is a good idea. I'll call you this afternoon, though, okay?" "Sure. See you later," He pauses uncertainly, and then holds out his hand. "Rock on, rock on?" I grip the offered hand. "Peace out Avril," We shake gently, release, and Colin leaves. I return to the kitchen, where the entire family has remained, sitting around the table, waiting for me. I feel myself being hit with another massive wave of grief. "I really need you guys right now," I manage to choke out. Then I crumple to the ground. When I come to, I find myself laid out on the couch with seven pairs of worried eyes fixed on me. As everything about the past 24 hours slowly returns to me, it's as if it's hitting me for the first time and I start to weep. I have all my family around me but I've never felt more alone. Oh God how did this happen? After I don't know how long, a new feeling comes over me. Rage. Rage like I've never experienced. It's as if winter has arrived in my soul. Cold, quiet, dark, bitter January like winter. The kind where it doesn't seem there could be any hope for spring. Not ever. Under this new influence, I feel myself growing strangely calm. The rage is like a blanket over everything, blocking out the pain and loss. It's like I'm so frozen nothing can touch me, and somehow that's a comforting, soothing thought. I blink at them all several times, before arranging my face to match my odd inner calm. "Hi," I say, my voice like snow. Soft and nearly silent. Muffled. "Oh honey," mom coos, drawing me into a hug. I hug her back, patting her back reassuringly. "I don't want to talk about it. Any of it. Everybody understand?" I allow lightness to soften the edges of my words. She holds me by the shoulders, eyes full of concern and questions. "Carrots, honey. You have to talk about it – pretending it didn't happen won't—" "That's not what I'm doing. You think I don't know what happened? You think I'm not feeling it every second?" I shake my head. "Talking about it WON'T make it better. This is my last word, got it people? Next time any of you bring it up, I'm just walking." "Carrots this isn't—" "Okay. I'm going to school. See you guys later." I take advantage of their shock to make a hasty get away out of the living room and up the stairs. When I get in the shower, memories come flooding back for an instant, and I almost break down, but I quickly push the feelings away. The dull, voiceless rage returns, and I turn on the water. When I exit the shower I catch a glimpse of my reflection and it shocks me into stasis. My skin looks almost grey, bruises are starting to show, scattered across my chest and arms. Cuts and bite marks too. My eyes look hollow, but I try to tell myself it's just the exhaustion. It doesn't work and I hate the sight of myself. I want to be strong. Powerful. I want to look like someone that nothing can touch, nothing can hurt, so that's what I can become. But instead I look like someone who's cried way more than their share, someone who has lost everything, and knows it. Someone who fought and lost, in a battle that nobody won. I close my eyes, and take a step back. I bite down on my lip hard enough to draw blood and wait for the strength I found in my anger to return. I settle for a half calm, and try to ignore the way my hands shake violently as I attempt to patch myself up a little. I get dressed among the ruins of my room, but block out every image that doesn't fit neatly into my desire for my bulkiest articles of clothing. An attempt to hide the physical manifestations of the pain I'm trying to ignore. Dressed, I shut my door firmly behind me, wanting everything that happened there to stay locked behind the closed door. Downstairs again, but my next route of escape is far from barricade free. Kyle first, who is on me before I'm even all the way down the stairs, trying to reason with me in his own way, which of course involves yelling and threats of physical interference with my attempted exit. Jonas saves me unintentionally by tugging on his hand and telling him to calm down. I slip past them as a small argument erupts, Kyle in angry mild hysterics and Jonas desperately struggling to remain calm himself and calm Kyle down at the same time. I get my shoes and jacket on, but when my parents block the door, they're wearing their resolve faces on (I've seen them before, I know what they mean!). I want to scream, but I just close my eyes and press a thumb hard against the bruise that's wrapped around my left wrist, distracting myself with the pain, waiting for them to get out of my way. "Carrots, you can't go to school. Even if your emotional state wasn't what it is, you're not physically up to it. Son, you've barely slept, you've covered in cuts and bruises." And here I was hoping the clothes would fool them. "And besides all that, the shock and stress of Celery's," it's in this moment that I realize I can't hate the sound of his name, "leaving has taken its toll on your body. You need to rest, you need to eat something, and then you need to start talking about this." It's my dad, so it's firm, and yet gentle, unyielding, but loving. And I'm working hard to forget every word. "Please get out of my way." My hands are curled into tight fists. "Don't make me pull brute squad." Kyle's voice from behind me, the skirmish with Jonas apparently over. My head is pounding and I just want to get away. I need to make them understand I have to go to school, because if I don't, then something's wrong, and this all really did happen. But deeper, the part of me that knows it did, whether I go to school or not, still wants to go. Because I want to be strong, and if I'm strong, then this hasn't beaten me, and I show that by living like it was just a regular day. Something I'm still capable of facing. "I need to do this." "Not yet, not now. You HAVE to rest, honey, please. We're worried about you. This is no time to be blocking us out, we need to grieve together." Grieving is exactly what I won't let myself do. She needs to understand that. "I'm going to school." "No, Carrots—" "You can't stop me!" "If we have to, we will." My dad says softly. I want to cry, but I won't let myself. "Don't you understand? You're just making this harder for me. Talking about my feelings and getting some bed rest will not bring him back. It won't change why he left or why I didn't stop him. So just please, let me go." My speech, short but more genuinely spoken than anything previous, gets me as past my parents and shouldering my backpack. "Wait up!" I turn, cause Jonas is slipping hurriedly into his shoes and grappling with his denim jacket. He flashes Kyle a look, some desperate thing, some hurried and uncertain promise. Like, if I'm going, at least if Jonas comes with me, there's someone to catch me when I fall. I tell myself I'll let him come along, just to prove to everyone that I'm not going to. So we leave together, and Jonas trails after me the whole way to school, his face contorted as he desperately searches for a way to reason with me, but I just keep on doing the calm thing. I even go as far as to try to comfort him, which seems to freak Jonas out most of all. I want to plead with him to stop acting this way, because the putting this behind me thing would work a whole lot better if other people would do their part, but if I did that, it would just be another sign that nothing's okay. If it ever will be again. School itself is muted and strange. It's like the sound's been turned down all around me. I'm aware of the noises, the people, talking, staring, whispering. I see and I hear, but it's all like a quiet buzzing in my ear. Like static. I'm not on the right frequency. But I'm too tired to try and find it. The shock in Colin's eyes at seeing me registers briefly, as does the look of weary acceptance that follows it. By the time I'm walking closer to him, it's like he already knew. It's like in his head he's reminding himself he should have expected this. I feel that little part of me trying to speak up again, wanting to ask how he knew, and why the knowing is making him look like he does, but it's too quiet. Too weak to overcome to force of denial in my brain. Oblivion is everything. It encompasses all. It is my refuge. For the next couple days, that's how it is. It's all I'm capable of. That empty, flippant tone. That baseless cheer over seething anger that doesn't fool anyone for a second, but is all that keeps me going. Cause if I can pretend hard enough that it hasn't affected me, that I don't care, I guess maybe the dream is that eventually the myth will become the reality. And for the next two weeks, that is life. Trying to cling so hard onto anger that I won't have to admit or face any of the things that will lead me to feel everything I'm very not ready to. All I can bear to feel is my rage, and so I wrap it around myself tightly, never letting it out lest if I do I'll be stripped of my last defense. I take my comfort and refuge in the act, outwardly calm and serene, while inside I'm hollow and broken. I can't say I'm heart broken exactly, it's more like I haven't got a heart at all. That along with everything else, my heart has been taken away from me, and the empty place where it used to be in my chest is all I'm left with. This is how I'm dealing (or very much NOT) but naturally, I'm not the only one who has been affected. I haven't gone so deep into myself that I can't see that. Even though I'm not doing anything to make it better. The twins are angry, but in their hurt and confusion, I think they're having a hard time trying to figure out whom to be angry with. My own anger consumes me, but it's faceless. I haven't been able to determine who to direct it at. Kara is almost as silent as me, though she doesn't have that falsely okay thing going for her. She's been home more than usual though, and I don't think I've seen Sue over here once since Celery left. That's pretty weird, since they're usually together every possible second. Jonas and Kyle are clinging to each other just like I wanted to cling to Celery while they were going through their most serious problems. Wanting to assure each of their love and presence in the face of this much loss and brokenness. They're also the ones that come to me the most, trying to get me to talk or cry or show any sign of genuine emotion. Something beyond patient fury. Their concern disrupts my performance as I have to again and again try to get them to move on. Forget like I want to believe I have. Hate everything instead of feeling anything. But again and again they come to me, with fun and new ways to break through, but instead of appreciating it, I just wish they would stop. Worse than Kyle and Jonas however, is my mom. She's better at it than them, for one thing. More practice I guess. She's the only one who's come close to getting me to break down. I think it's something to do with her eyes. Mothers have some powerful looks in their arsenal, and I think my mom's got to be one of the best there is. Dad's giving me trouble too. He sighs a lot in my general direction, and gives me these deeply concerned stares that make the hair stand up on the back on my neck. He's also tried to have `father son' talks with me a few times, and I have talked to him, but not the real stuff. Just the mantra that is my best defense. Saying I'm fine in the desperate hope that one time I'll say it, and it'll finally be true.