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White Ink (pt.4)
I’m still not feeling quite myself. Josh and I are sitting in the living room eating oatmeal I made because I couldn’t sleep and I needed something to do. My mother hates when we eat in the living room, so I make a point of doing that when she’s not home. Josh is watching me and I’m not sure if it’s because of how I was acting last night, or if it’s because I took my shirt back when I got up, or if he’s just watching me. I really don’t care, either.
I should clarify something, since I’m not sure what impression I gave you the last time we talked. No matter what Scot says, I’ve never slept with Josh. That’s why Josh punched him for what he said. I think he took more offense at it than I did. I knew Scot was joking, but Josh has this overactive since of honour. I think he was defending both me and his dignity, since we were in the cafeteria at lunch and Josh isn’t quite as out as I am.
“Michael, are you going to eat your breakfast or just stare at it?”
“What?” I ask stupidly, looking up at Josh, who’s trying not to laugh. He startled me out of my thoughts and now I don’t know what’s going on.
Josh just shakes his head in response. “Sometimes I wonder about you.”
I stick my tongue out at him and reach for the remote. It’s still really early and usually they show old cartoons from when we were kids at ungodly hours of the morning of Saturdays.
“Honestly, Mikey, how old are you?” Josh teases.
I elbow him in the side. “You can’t tell me Thundercats isn’t still awesome.”
Josh rolls his eyes and laughs at my off-key rendition of the Thundercats’ theme song. I’m not a singer. Not at all.
We talk on and off through Thundercats, Freakazoid, two episodes of Pinky and the Brain, and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles before some of the more recent cartoons come on and we take our bowls to the kitchen. Mostly we’ve spent the last two and a half hours discussing the short-comings of new cartoons and memories from our childhoods and giving the last remnants of the oatmeal time to adhere itself to the bowls I’m going to have to scrub later. Whatever.
Of course, now that we’ve had breakfast and Josh has assured me he’s not going back to bed, it must be time for homework. At least, according to Josh it’s time for homework. According to me it’s time for drug-Josh-with-sleeping-pills-to-avoid-homework, but he’d kill me. It’s not like I’d hurt him, but he’d still kill me. Not that I’d blame him.
But I’m nothing if not stubborn. It helps that I can be quite convincing when I want to be. I manage to stall homework for another hour before Josh throws my pre-calc book at me and informs me that I can start now or he can leave and stop being a distraction. He’s not happy when I point out that I won’t be able finish this if he’s not here to explain it. I. Suck. At. Math.
As per usual my attention span is practically nonexistent. I get through two problems before we take a break for lunch. Mostly this is just because Josh can’t stand explaining imaginary numbers to me for a fifth time. Partly, though, it’s because he says I’m just staring into space.
“Earth to Michael,” Josh says loudly, poking me in the shoulder. I’m sitting next to him with my sandwich halfway to my mouth completely still and staring at the wall.
At least, to Josh it looks like I’m staring at the wall. But it’s there. The thing from last night.
“Mikey, are you alright?” Josh asks, frustration turning to concern.
I nod dumbly.
“No you aren’t,” he says flatly. “What are you staring at?”
“It’s watching me,” I whisper, not moving or taking my eyes off of the thing.
Josh looks at the wall for a moment and then back at me. “There’s nothing there.”
“Yes there is.” By this time my sandwich has found its way back to my plate and is sitting forgotten on my lap. “It’s right there. It’s watching me. It was watching me last night.”
Again Josh looks at the wall. I think he’s honestly trying to see what I see. “What is it?”
“It’s right there,” I say without moving. “I’m not sure what it is. It’s like a big dog, but it doesn’t really look like a dog. It just has a dog’s presence. Or maybe a wolf. A really evil wolf. It’s got a wolf’s body, I think. I can’t see it that clearly. Or maybe it’s more like a big cat. It’s got horns though. And fangs. And its eyes are really strange. Definitely a big, shaggy dog. Not a wolf.”
By now Josh has given up on the wall and he’s just staring at me. Maybe it’s the dead tone of my voice or maybe it’s what I’m saying. There’s something between astonishment and fear in his voice when he speaks. “What are you seeing?”
“I don’t know,” I say lightly. I’d shrug, but I think I’m frozen in place. The odd thing is, I really don’t care.
“Come on, Mikey,” Josh says. The astonishment is gone from his voice now. It’s just fear there. “Get your shoes. We’re going for a walk.”
“Hn,” I murmur. I don’t think I could move if I wanted to.
“Mikey,” Josh warns. He sounds panicky now. I still haven’t moved, so he grabs my arm and pulls me up.
And just like that the spell is broken. The thing, whatever it was, is gone. I still can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched, though.
“Come on, Michael,” Josh urges. “I think we could both use some fresh air. Stir crazy after two days. That’s gotta be some sort of record.”
He’s babbling. “Not crazy.”
“I know you’re not,” he says. His tone suggests he only half believes that at the moment.
“That’s not what I meant,” I glare. “We’re not losing it. Neither of us. I saw something weird that you couldn’t see and it scared you.”
I have no idea where that came from. Josh just scowls at me, though he doesn’t comment. He’s more focused on leaving the house. Can’t say I blame him. I really don’t understand how he puts up with me sometimes.
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