BLONDE

by Cassie Knight Rodriguez

  Austen was stuck in his own mind, pacing around his room. He couldn’t get himself to calm down and his heart is pounding and the whole world’s on his shoulders and there’s a weight on his chest and he can’t breathe. He’s clutching his jacket and he’s breathing like a heavy smoker who can’t catch a breath and he’s got tears slowly making their way down his cheeks. He’s trying so hard to keep composed because he knows that he can’t do this; he knows that he can’t be like this. He can’t keep doing this, he can’t be so distraught, he has to be composed so he doesn’t guilt trip Sam for making him feel like this. It’s not Sam’s fault, Austen reminds himself. It’s your own.

  Austen’s shaking so hard, it’s like someone stepped outside during a snowstorm without a jacket. He’s stumbling in his steps and his vision is blurred. He’s shaking like a madman; he’s walking like a drunk; he’s seeing the world without glasses. His breathing is rough and unsteady and it’s like he’s just run miles without a break. He feels like he’s just run miles without a break.

  He feels burnt out. He feels like the flame that was so big and bright was smothered and snuffed out. The glowing inferno flame was suffocated. It was suffocating. Austen was suffering and Sam didn’t have a care in the world.

  Sam wanted to care so badly but he was letting his stubbornness get the best of him. He was letting his emotions cloud his decisions and his judgement. Deep down, he knew better, but he wouldn’t accept that.

  Sam was startled, feeling John tap his shoulder. They had just finished a test in their English class and all he wanted to do was leave and go see Chloe and Sierra. He felt it had been such a long time since he’s seen them even though it had only been a few weeks.

  "You spaced out," John said quietly, holding up his hands in defense. "Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you."

  "It’s fine," Sam huffed, clearly annoyed. "What do you want?"

  "Grumpy," John muttered, rolling his eyes. "How’s that situation with you and Austen? I tried talking to him about it but he’s all closed up and, like, he’s… He looks broken, dude."

  "I don’t care," Sam responded, voice hitched. "I… I don’t- I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. He can be as sad as he wants to be. I don’t care. It’s… It’s all for attention, he’s, he’s just doing it for attention. It’s not real it’s fake he’s really not sad he’s not sad he’s just manipulating me and I can’t have- I can’t let someone do that again."

  "Sam."

  "John."

  "Look- I get you’re hurt," John said, crossing his arms, glaring. "I really do. But you can’t let your emotions take over this time. At least check up on him, go to him, give him a chance to apologize since you’re so fucking adamant on an apology."

  "Look," Sam began in a mocking tone, "Austen does owe me an apology. Why? For fucking with my emotions and doing these things to, to… To make me stay, to… To do all these different things! He can’t just act a certain way and expect me to be there for him all the time. He can’t drag on the conversation the way he does just so I won’t leave. He can’t- He can’t go around moping the way he does and just expect me to drop everything to go ask him if he’s okay and then he- he doesn’t even answer me! He doesn’t tell me! He just, he just says that he’s fine or whatever and whatever! Fuck him, I don’t care! Don’t tell me what I should do, John, because you don’t know."

  The room was suddenly awkward; every student in the room was staring at Sam, shocked by his outburst. Sam had never had an outburst.

  John stared at him in awe, appalled by the words that he had just spoken to him.

  Sam stood up and walked out of the room, lost in his thoughts. He was conflicted, arguing between the Sam that cared and the Sam that wanted to nothing more than to see the world burn after Austen’s betrayal.

  He continued down the hall, heading out of the building and out into the courtyard. He didn’t know where to go next. He wanted so badly to go home and dress up a bit more and head to the mall where Chloe’d asked him to meet up later that day, but at the same time, he knew he should go check on Austen. For all he knew, he could be dead.

  He walked around the courtyard aimlessly, waiting for his feet to take him wherever they chose. He wanted to walk to take his mind off things; he wanted to get the thoughts of Austen out of his mind and the caring thoughts to leave him alone. He was adamant and he would not give up. He would not back down.

  He wandered off campus, not realizing the path that his feet were taking. Realizing where he was, Sam stopped in his tracks and stared at the building in front of him: Austen’s apartment.

  "Shit," Sam muttered under his breath. He wanted to turn around and leave, go home and go to the mall with Chloe like he had planned to. He wanted to go and help pick out clothes with Sierra at Forever 21; he wanted to go and ignore his problems by going to the bar that night with Darren and Steve. He wanted to be anywhere but there.

  Sam walked into the building, heading up the stairs to the third floor and headed down the hall until he stood in front of Austen’s door. He couldn’t pull himself to knock on the door but at the same time he couldn’t pull himself to walk away.

  "Stand your ground," Sam whispered to himself, grabbing the handle on the door and knocking loudly.

  There was no answer.

  He knocked again, longer and louder.

  There was no answer.

  Thoughts began to race through Sam’s head, wondering all of the possibilities. Was Austen dead? Did he kill himself? Or was he just playing with Sam’s emotions? And this was just a ploy? Is this an elaborate plot to get Sam to come back to Austen? To get him to stay?

  He took in a deep breath, knowing he should go into this situation with a calmer mind. He couldn’t be angry right now, no, he could be angry later. He needed to clear his mind and to get through this. He would have time to feel emotions later.

  He swiftly grabbed the spare key from the potted plant outside his door and let himself in. He shut the door behind him, turning around to face the living room. He took a step forward before stopping in his tracks, staring at the paralyzing scene.

  Austen was in the corner, sat with his knees pulled up to his face, rocking back and forth. His cheeks were stained with tears and his lip quivered, threating for more. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was red. His once-vibrant blue hair was faded and completely gone, leaving him blonde.

  "Oh my god," Sam whispered. The spare key fell from his hands as he studied the natural blue, seeing the state he was in. Bruises were splattered across him in the way that an artist would flick paint onto a canvas. There scabbed over cuts on his hands, leaving Sam to assume they had come from the broken glass bottles that were scattered around the room. His eyes scanned the living room and kitchen, seeing alcohol stains on the ground and seeing bottles upon bottles.

  Austen never drank.

  He had never, ever had a drink before in his life and now his apartment looked like one of an alcoholic. Austen had broken down so bad that he touched one of the most vile things. He loathed alcohol and viewed it as one of the most disgusting things one could consume. Yet, here he was, surrounded by gallons of the poison. Swallowed.

  Sam took a step closer, watching his step to prevent himself from dicing his foot with the shattered glass. He stepped carefully towards Austen. The blonde boy whimpered, continually rocking back and forth like he was in his own reality. He was so deep into his mind he didn’t see - nor realize - that Sam was here and approaching him. He never wanted Sam to see him get this bad. He never wanted to be thinking this loud.

  Sam placed his hand gently on Austen’s shoulder, startling the blonde. He looked over at the brunette in alarm, flinching away from his touch.

  "W-What?" Austen stammered, looking at Sam with wide eyes. "W-What a-are you d-d-d-doing here?"

  "I…" Sam trailed off, unsure of why he really was here. His feet took him there subconsciously and he couldn’t figure out the real reason he was there. Was he showing up to stop his guilt? Was he rea
lly concerned and worried?

  "Y-You should g-go," Austen said quickly, standing up and moving away from the confused brunette. He quickly paced back and forth in the living room, not flinching once as he stepped all along the glass, the shards digging into his heels.

  "W-What?" Sam said, caught off-guard by the comment. He shook his head quickly, standing up. He rushed towards the blonde boy, gently gripping his arm, halting his pacing. "Aus, please, you’re getting all the glass in your feet."

  "N-No, please," Austen said, shaking his head, taking his arm out of Sam’s grip. "G-Go, this is a w-waste of your time."

  "No, I came here for a reason," Sam said. He grabbed Austen’s arm once more, carefully leading him through the living room and sitting them both down on the couch.

  "Well?" Austen sniffed, wiping his tears from his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. "W-Why? Why are y-you here?"

  "I…" Sam trailed off once more, attempting to gather his clustered thoughts. "I d-don’t know, uh, I-"

  "This is a waste of time," Austen said, cutting Sam off. He shook his head, standing up from the couch to continue his pacing. It was the only healthy way he knew how to calm himself down.

  "I don’t have to be here right now," Sam snapped, standing up and grabbing Austen to stop his pacing. Sam turned Austen’s body, looking him in the eye. "I should be getting ready to go out with Chloe and Sierra right now and then head out to hang with Darren at the bar but instead I chose to come here!"

  "You were going to hang out with her," Austen stated, feeling his heart drop to his stomach.

  "And I’m not," Sam said. "Doesn’t that mean a fucking thing to you? That I’m putting you first? That I always put you first but that’s never fucking good enough? I can’t be there for you all the time, Austen. Get over yourself!"

  "Her," Austen repeated, Sam’s words running over his head. His focus was set on the fact that Sam openly said that he was going out with her. Chloe. The girl that Sam promised he wasn’t cheating on Austen with. The girl that he had no feelings for, that he wanted nothing to do with, no romantic interest.

  "How thick is your fucking head?!" Sam shouted angrily, flailing his arms in frustration. "I love you, Austen, but, fuck, I can’t keep doing this! I can’t have this in my life, Aus, I- I can’t keep doing this back and forth shit, I can’t… I can’t have you do that thing where you’re all playing off what’s wrong and beating around the bush because you don’t want to tell me. You can’t just bait me and you… You can’t just- Just because Zack fucking hurt you doesn’t mean you get to hurt me."

  Austen paused, staring at Sam, tears welling in his eyes.

  "I’m n-not Zack," Austen said quietly, his voice cracking.

  "Then stop acting like it," Sam hissed.

  "I’m not Zack!" Austen screamed, pushing Sam backwards onto the couch, running away from the situation.

  Sam was taken aback by Austen’s sudden rage. He’s never laid his hands on someone before.

  "I’m not Zack."

  THE SIZE OF MY BAD THOUGHTS BROKE DOWN MY DOOR

  NOVEMBER 19TH

  Sam looked around for Austen, wondering where the once natural blue had gone. He wanders around the small apartment, trekking to the kitchen, through the dining room. He stood awkwardly in the middle of Austen's living room. He grows anxious, subconsciously running his fingertips along the words permanently attached to his wrist. They ached slightly, and he knew that meant something was wrong, or that something was going to go wrong, but he wasn't sure what, why, or how. He chose not to acknowledge it, wondering if he was just being silly and that this wasn't anything new. They had another fight and it'd all be okay. Sam would apologize like he always did and Austen would be okay. He didn't want to but he had to. He had to, to make it okay. They'd be okay. They'd always be okay. Sam wasn't even sure if Austen was his soulmate, with what he had been feeling off-and-on for the last six to eight months. He hated what he had become, especially since he had promised the blue-haired man so many times that he wouldn't grow to be his ex. He hated himself, but he'd never let Austen know.

  "Austen?" Sam called out, pacing around the living room. He walked down the hallway, heading towards Austen's bedroom. "Austen?"

  "Go away," Austen hissed in response. "I'm sick of this feeling, I'm sick of the way you've got me wrapped around your fucking finger, how you confuse me and how I have to play a game of twenty-one questions to get an answer from you about the things you do behind my back! I hate this feeling of unease you give me when I'm around you and I fucking hate that it's accompanied by the feeling of admiration and love and comfort that I shouldn't be feeling!"

  Austen had so much more he wanted to say, but he thought that he had said enough already, knowing that he could make the situation much worse than what it already was. He loved Sam and he never wanted to leave him, but the things that Sam was doing to him... He knew it wasn't healthy. Sam was wrecking him and he didn't even know it. How bad, Austen wished, that he could just tell him. But Sam wouldn't understand, Austen thought, so he couldn't. He wouldn't.

  "Austen, please," Sam begged, placing his hand softly on the doorknob, hoping it wasn't locked. "Please, Aus, I know I said some things I shouldn't have, we need to talk this out, please. I'm so sorry, Austen, I'm so so sorry."

  "I don't want to talk to you right now," Austen said angrily as he curled himself into a ball. He sat in the corner of his room, the same one he had sat in when Adrianna and Elias shared their last words, the same one he had sat when Adrianna had died, the same one he had sat when everything went wrong. He wanted to be alone; he wanted to be lost in his thoughts. He wanted to be alone, but he was scared. He didn't know if he could trust himself; he didn't want to trust himself.

  "Please, Austen," Sam begged once more.

  "No! Just fucking leave me alone!" Austen shouted shakily, fear lacing the words that spilt from his mouth. He couldn't be left alone; he shouldn't be left alone, not with the thoughts that wove his mind together. Not right now. But, yes, right now.

  "You know what, Austen?" Sam started, anger fortifying his voice. "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but what happens next? I guess we'll never know!"

  "You'll never know until we're gone," Austen hissed at the brunette, shaking from the anxiety that was slowly rising within him.

  "Austen, I can't deal with you if you won't even bother to deal with yourself," Sam spat, fastened with anger and disappointment. "You can't just push me away when I'm trying to help you."

  Sam turned the knob slowly and entered Austen's room. He looked over at the natural blue and he wondered if he was more blue than yellow. He wasn't the optimist that everyone saw him as.

  Sam was worried about Austen, there's no doubt about that, yet he was so angry. He was fuming at what Austen had said to him, though he knew in the back of his mind that it wasn't entirely Austen's fault. Sam didn't want to believe it. He had let his emotions consume him this time - something he hadn't let happen since high school - and he had had enough with Austen's behavior. He was so angry that Austen wasn't taking care of it and being self-aware. Sam thought about how he shouldn't blame the entire problem on Austen... but he didn't want to admit he was part of the issue. He didn't want to admit that there was more to the situation than Austen's thought process. There were more factors - some that he caused. It was too much to handle.

  "I said to go away!" Austen screamed at Sam, who stood in the door frame, staring at him. Sam didn't move, nor did he say anything. Neither did Austen.

  Austen felt awful about the situation. He hated that he was feeling so hot and cold and he felt like he was batshit crazy. He hated that Sam was coming and going and everything was such a mess. Austen felt a consistent deep blue. His chest hurt and he felt heavy; he had trouble breathing and he knew he was panicking.

  Rid yourself.

  Die.

  Get out of Sam's life.

  Don't ruin it any more than you already have.

  The intrusive thoughts h
ad set in.

  "Look, Austen, I'm mad at you," Sam began, "and you hurt me. That doesn't mean I don't care about you."

  "Yeah, I hurt you," Austen scoffed, "and you shouldn't. Why would you? If I'm so bad! Huh?!" He was trembling, his eyes were watering, his throat was tightening. He knew he was about to cry, to break out into heart-wrenching sobs. Austen wouldn't let Sam see that. Austen didn't want to make Sam feel any more pity for him than the little he already had. He felt bad enough as it is. Sam was fuming with anger and yet he still had enough of a heart to carry empathy and worry towards him.

  "Austen-"

  "So keep out of my room because I think I've seen enough of you today!" Austen burst out. He had tears rolling down his cheeks but he ignored them.

  Sam felt a pinch on his wrist but he ignored the feeling and left the room at Austen's request. He closed the door softly yet swiftly and sat down, his back perched against it.

  "I can't help you if you don't want it," Sam said quietly. "My sun still sets without you, like nothing ever happened."

  Austen felt a stinging sensation on his wrist. He looked down and instantly knew that Sam was meant to be his, whether Sam was ready to face the facts or not. But it was too late. Austen broke into a silent sob, knowing that his future no longer existed. His future was now. The present is all that he had left. There is nothing left.

  Sam heard Austen's sobs but he did nothing about it. He kept telling himself that he needed to be strong, to let Austen know that he couldn't keep doing this to him. Sam buried his face in his hands, his hair falling into his eyes. He felt so terrible to make Austen feel that way but he thought it would be for the best. He hated that he wanted to say sorry even though it wasn't his fault.