Chapter Six: Home Again
Oh boy, I am trying desperately to block Jason’s thoughts while I cook us breakfast. Unfortunately, I am more than aware that he had sex not only with some random woman who works at the stadium, but also PAM! Eric’s Pam! Oh my gosh, I try really hard to block any further information, but Jason is so caught up in the memories of last night that his thoughts are hammerin’ at my mental shields like a deranged woodpecker.
“Your shoulder still feelin’ good, Jason?” I try to distract him with conversation.
“Yeah,” he replies, still too engrossed with his conquests the previous night.
“That’s good,” I taper off and decide to focus on breakfast and not keepin’ his attention. He deserves to focus on someone other than me for a change. I’m glad he got to be with someone…s… Two someones, but I’m not a girl who would have appreciated knowin’ I was with a guy who then went and banged another girl shortly after bein’ with me. I think it would break my heart. But they are not me and Jason obviously is not someone I would ever date, so what does it matter?
I guess it upsets me because I know what a sweet and honest guy Jason is, and to know he could do something so intimate as that with two different people in such a short stretch of time? It makes me worried about bein’…close… With anyone. Maybe I’m bein’ too girly about the whole sex thing, but I really want my first time to be special. What if I meet a sweet, honest guy and he does that to me?
“Hey!” Jason is standin’ next to me with big eyes, “Why you lookin’ like someone just died?”
I swallow hard and shake my head, “I just worry about you.”
“Aw, you ain’t got nothing to worry about with me,” he pats my back and steals a piece of bacon from where it’s coolin’. “So, what do you wanna do today?” he asks me.
Let’s see, it’s winter, it’s a Sunday and we are broke. “Well,” I begin hesitantly, “since this is the last Sunday before Christmas break and all your friends will be headin’ home for the holidays, could we ask to borrow someone’s car so we can go visit Mom, Dad, Gramps, and Gran?”
Jason smiles softly at my suggestion, “Yeah, Sis. You finish making breakfast, and I’ll call some of the guys and see if anyone will let us borrow their car.”
“Thanks, Jason,” I give him a soft smile and turn back to breakfast, pancakes and bacon.
After Jason secures a car for 2 p.m., we settle into breakfast, both a little melancholy about our plans. Of course we want to visit our family plot, but at the same time, it’s very depressing. Holiday cheer is scarce when your family get-togethers are in a cemetery.
At two, Harley, the team’s starting tailback, arrives with his pick-up and we drop him off back home before catchin’ the 49 South to Bon Temps. The trip is pretty quiet as both of us are a bit distracted about what we’re doing. We go twice every year ’round Christmas and Easter. We tried to go at Thanksgiving, but between football, work, and school, we just can’t swing it. Also, we try to make it a point to go on birthdays and anniversaries… It’s just really hard… Neither one of us really wants to go and be depressed all day.
Every trip is like some glarin’ reminder that we’re all we got. I think Jason worries a lot ’bout Hadley OD’ing, or Aunt Linda havin’ a stroke of bad luck like the rest of the family. Sometimes I wonder if we got some sorta curse or target on our backs. Maybe I just want someone to blame, or some sorta explanation for why Jason and I have to go through this. I find myself tellin’ myself that it could be worse, but it’s hard to imagine how.
Jason pulls up to the big fence around the cemetery and we take each other’s hands while we make our way to where our family is laid to rest. We’re very quiet as we look at the markers, and I wonder if Jason is thinkin’ the same thing as me, that everyone who ever loved us is in the ground beneath our feet, and if they could, they would dig themselves out to be with us.
They didn’t want to leave us, right? I wonder sadly, immediately feeling guilty that such a thought came from my head. Of course they didn’t wanna leave us behind. They loved us. If they knew what we were going through, and they had the power to help us, I know they would.
My dark musings are diverted when I hear very loud claps of debris smashin’ around. When I look up, Jason is starin’ up the hill at Gran’s old farmhouse. His jaw is tense, and then he looks down at me worriedly. I suddenly realize what I’m hearin’. Someone bought the farmhouse and is tearin’ it up!
My throat burns with anger at this realization. Someone is tearin’ apart my history. Our history! It ain’t bad enough we gotta come to a cemetery to visit our family, now our ancestral home is under attack as well.
Before Jason can stop me, I’m runnin’ up the hill and he’s chasin’ me. I don’t even realize how hard I’m runnin’ ’til I’m doubled over, pantin’ and starin’ at the mutilation of my childhood home. What I find is a large dumpster and construction workers throwin’ piece after piece of my past into it as if it’s trash. That’s all I am to the world. Trash, I think miserably
“Th-they’re guttin’ it,” I choke around my gasps for breath. When I manage to suck in a good lungful of air, my voice tears across the hill, “THEY’RE FUCKIN’ GUTTIN’ IT!”
Jason’s hand clamps over my screamin’ mouth before I can get another breath out. Several of the workers look at us after Jason picks me up, with his hand still covering my mouth, and carries me back to our borrowed truck. I’m tryin’ to breathe, but my nose is filled with snot, and his hand is over my mouth. The most I can do is hiccup against his palm, and sneak a few molecules of oxygen through my congested nasal passage.
When Jason has me safely inside, he removes his hand and closes the door. By the time he’s behind the wheel, I’m a sobbin’, hysterical mess. The anxiety of oxygen deprivation has me chokin’ on my breaths and I cry the entire way home, feelin’ just as useless and unwanted as everything in the old farmhouse.
I cry all the way up the stairs to our apartment. I cry all the way to my room and into my bed. I cry because all I have left is Jason, and I selfishly want to keep him forever. I selfishly want him to give up the entire world, all of his future happiness, and just stay with me. I cry because I’m a horrible, selfish person.
“Good evening, Stackhouse,” I already know something is not right. Stackhouse looks as if he is prepared to burst into tears, and I could easily hear Sookie crying from the first floor landing. “Has something happened?” I ask.
“Me and Sooks had a really bad day,” he rasps hoarsely. His red eyes brim with tears and now that I am listening properly, I can tell that Sookie is actually asleep and crying intermittently in her dreams.
“May I come in?” I gesture to the door.
“Yeah, sure. Don’t know what kinda company I’ll be… Sooks is passed out, but yeah. C’mon in,” He steps aside, allowing me to enter. “We went and visited our family today.”
Ah, that would explain the heavy emotions and atmosphere. “That must still be difficult for you,” I nod in understanding.
“Yeah, well,” Stackhouse runs his hand through his hair tiredly, and I have a strange compulsion to pat his back. I awkwardly do that and he shakes his head, seemingly amused by my attempt at comfort. “This ain’t your thing. I get it. You don’t have to try and do the comfort thing.”
“I am trying to work on it,” I admit begrudgingly and am surprised when his small, consolatory smile causes my chest to tighten. When did I start giving a damn about this broken family?
“Well, the cemetery was hard. Y’know, the holidays make shit rough regardless,” he tells me softly when we go to the sofa and sit down. “We were doing all right, but then we heard hammerin’, and,” he looks lost. “See, our old house was on the hill overlookin’ that cemetery. We heard construction. Sookie freaked out, ran up the hill, and saw them gutting our old home. She hasn’t stopped cryin’ since.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Was your old home in Bon Temps?” I ask, dreading the answer. Suddenly, that initial scent of ‘home’ I breathed when Sookie’s fragrance first wafted past my nostrils makes much more sense. Even after several years of vacancy, her aroma would have still been infused in parts of the house.
“Yeah… Why?” His tone tells me he is already suspecting what my reply will be, and he is very unhappy.
“You must understand that I bought it almost eighteen months ago, before I ever knew either of you,” I tell him quickly. “I only just found an architect who was sympathetic to the original-”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Jason spits at me, but pauses, takes a deep breath, and collects himself. “Sorry… Sorry, it ain’t your fault. You have the right to buy whatever you want.” He stands up and begins pacing. “You gotta understand,” he begins to beseech me, “to me and Sookie, seeing that house broken down is real sore. We didn’t wanna give it up. We got fucked hard up the ass when Gran died.”
“I understand that,” I nod, gesturing for him to continue.
“We had no idea Gran wasn’t paying her property taxes. Apparently our daddy did that for her, and when he died, she had no idea she was supposed to be doing that. Granddaddy did it till he died, daddy did it till he died. Next thing we know, Gran’s dead and the government’s saying we owe eight years back taxes plus all these fuckin’ penalties-” Stackhouse cuts himself off, clutching his hair in frustration. “When they seized the house, Sookie had a meltdown. Seeing it getting gutted like that just killed her.”
“Jason,” I urge him to sit down, “perhaps if Sookie could see what I am doing, it would ease her emotions. The renovations that are being done are entirely sympathetic to the original design. It is merely updating plumbing, electricity, and HVAC. What your sister saw was probably very extreme because, yes, the plaster had to be ripped out to do all of the updates. There was asbestos in places, and my Gods, with all of that lead paint, I am surprised either of you had the mental capacity to finish school, let alone excel.” That comment earns me a watery laugh that eases some of what feels suspiciously like guilt within me. If only I had given more interest in the house than its location. I would have known the former owner and deduced it was the Stackhouse’s home upon our first encounter! “However, aside from a few areas that sustained water damage, all of the woodwork is original. It is a very sturdy, persevering home.”
Jason nods as if he is understanding what I am telling him. Unfortunately, he is still holding his head in his hands as though he could break down crying at any moment. I want desperately to soothe his spirits, offer some sort of balm to his emotions. I would give them the fucking house right now if I knew they would take it!
“Do I have permission to take Sookie back there tonight and show her what is being done?” I ask carefully.
Stackhouse considers this a moment before deciding that, against his better judgment, Sookie needs this. He nods his consent.
“Hey, Eric,” Jason whispers softly. “When Sookie sees the house, no matter what you did or didn’t do to it, she’s gonna be real emotional. She might do or say something she wouldn’t normally. I don’t know what it is, but you handle it however is best for Sookie. You handle it knowing she’s a hearts and flowers girl. If you can’t be a hearts and flowers guy, you break her heart now, okay?”
His comment surprises me. It makes me wonder if he believes Sookie may become so emotional that she would seek some sort of physical comfort from me. That likelihood is minimal at best. I have already pegged Sookie as a shy innocent. She would not seek physical comfort like that, being so inexperienced.
Instead of mentioning that Jason’s fears are unwarranted, I nod and rise from the sofa, heading to the bedroom. Sookie has cried herself to sleep, and I find that it would be better to let her rest. Sleeping through the drive back to Bon Temps might also alleviate the building anxiety over her distraught anticipations. Therefore, I scoop her into my arms and carry her out of the room. Stackhouse is holding the door open for me and follows me down the stairs to my car so that he can help me situate his sister into the seat.
On the drive home, I find myself holding Sookie’s hand gently in mine. It must have been more of an emotional day than I could comprehend because she has not even stirred since being put in the car. The half hour drive to Bon Temps is long and quiet aside from the occasional whimper of my unconscious companion. When I arrive up the gravel drive, I lift Sookie from her seat and bring her to rest on the sofa in her old living room. This is the only room completed thus far as it was only in need of rerunning the electricity and new drywall. It looks remarkably similar to its former incarnation. I even managed to find a nearly identical wallpaper. What a chore that was for Adriana Metcalf!
I go out to the front porch and pluck a pansy to place in her hand. The gardens already existed when I took possession of the house, and I had found them charming. So I hired a gardener to bring them back under thumb, and they have flourished in his care.
Sitting on the sofa at Sookie’s feet, I stroke her ankle soothingly until I feel her finally begin to stir. When she does, she blinks several times, confusion and recognition in her eyes before finally looking at me.
“How? Why am I home?” she asks in confusion.
“I bought this place a little over a year ago. I had no idea it was your childhood home,” I tell her gently. “When I arrived at your apartment this evening and your brother explained why the two of you were so distressed, I thought I could offer you comfort by showing you what it is I am doing to the farmhouse.”
“D-does Jason know I’m here?” she asks worriedly.
I smile, “Of course he does. I would not steal you away into the night. What sort of dark denizen do you take me for?”
Sookie gives me an apologetic grimace. “So, is this the only room you haven’t touched yet?” Sookie asks miserably and plays with the petals of the pink pansy in her hand.
“This is the only room that is completed,” I tell her. “I did not wish to destroy the character of the home, merely update its bones and repair damages.”
“I-I like the wallpaper,” she admits reluctantly, having apparently realized that the pattern is different than what she remembered.
“Yes, the floral pattern that was in here had a very nice, country, timeless feel to it. It took Adriana, the designer, some time to match it. I did not wish to change that,” I tell her. “Now, keep in mind, this is my residence now, not a family home. Therefore, some rooms that were once bedrooms serve a different purpose. All right?” Sookie nods at me and accepts my hand when I offer a tour.
I show her the kitchen, which is still quite in shambles, but the new tiling is down and the paneling has been repainted. The back splash is going up tomorrow, which I tell her. I show her the tiling I selected for that and she comments that it is “very pretty”. I explain how Adriana and I both agreed that the kitchen layout needed to be reconfigured. As the room had been slowly built in with modern appliances, choosing the easiest method of installing new fixtures rather than the most practical, the function had taken a great blow.
Next, I show her the upstairs where I have converted one of the bedrooms into a study and the other into a guest bedroom. Neither of the rooms has changed all that much, removed wall paper, repainted. When we arrive back downstairs she begins to head to the master bedroom, but I stop her.
“I do not think you should go in there,” I warn.
“Why? It’s just another bedroom,” she shrugs.
“Because it is my personal room,” I try to explain without giving too much away. She would wonder why the window has been blocked up and why the room appears smaller than she remembers. That would be because the walls and ceiling have been reinforced for fire protection. She would also wonder why it appears un-lived in since it is not my primary resting place while construction is still underway. I have not died for the day in that room a single time since buying the house.
“Are you nervous you won’t be able to control yourself if I’m in your bedroom?” she asks softly, looking at me from beneath her eyelashes.
Surprisingly, no, that thought had not crossed my mind. She is constantly difficult to control myself around despite location, especially now that I can see her body is once again putting on weight. It has only been several days and she already looks much healthier.
“You wound me by saying you believe I am that undisciplined in my control over my own body, Sookie,” I tell her instead. She plays with her long blonde hair, looking at her feet and blushing. I touch her chin and urge her to look at me. “I am anything but without control where you are concerned, Sookie. A beautiful young woman deserves more than a man who thinks only of himself,” Her face flushes further at my words, and I feel her trying to turn her head from me shyly. “That said, I am not certain yet if I am able to be the man you deserve, and beg your patience while I endeavor to find out.”
Her head tilts, her eyes big with confusion at my proclamation. “I don’t understand what that means,” she admits.
“It means that you deserve a lover who holds you above all else. I am a very selfish man, Sookie, and I must discover if there is a chance that a miscreant like me can meet the standards you should have,” I explain bluntly.
“What if I told you I’m willin’ to find out the hard way? Find out with you?” she asks softly, her eyes large and trusting.
Bending slightly, I stoop down to meet her eyes and cup her beautiful chin in both of my palms. She is staring at me hopefully, but to do right by her and her brother, I cannot kiss her lips. Instead, I kiss her forehead and pull away, “Then I would say that we should head back to Shreveport now because it is getting late, and you have school in the morning.”
“Eric,” she whispers and tries to steal a kiss, but I have already risen to my full height and her lips press into my chest. Her arms wrap around my waist, and she rests her cheek into my chest. She holds me tightly, and I find my own arms tangling around her shoulders as I nuzzle into her crown of golden hair.
“For now, I will offer you companionship, Sookie. You are young-”
“Seven years ain’t that much,” she protests, her voice trilling through my chest, waking some sort of stirring I cannot recall experiencing before.
Try one-thousand, one-hundred and fifty-nine, Sookie, I think bemusedly. “Even still, let us merely get to know each other for now. All right? You know that I am interested and receptive to future relations. I know that you are receptive as well. There are no games, merely waiting.”
“It’s still a game, Eric,” she tells me in a foreign, husky tone. Gods, that sound is an aphrodisiac. “A game of wills. Let’s see how long you can keep those lips to yourself.”
Bold words from a meek girl, I think with embarrassment. I can’t believe I just said that!
Instead of dissolving into a puddle of girly-goo at making such a forward statement, I take Eric’s hand and he leads me back to his car. He holds my hand all the way back to Shreveport. Even while he’s shiftin’ gears our hands are laced together.
His hand is very cool in mine, but startin’ to warm up as his thumb grazes back and forth over my knuckles. My face goes tomato red when he brings my hand up to his lips and kisses where his thumb has been rubbin’. He does this five or six times between Bon Temps and Shreveport, and I blush like a little girl each time.
“Sorry I was such a wreck tonight,” I offer an apology when he pulls up to my building. My curfew is only a couple minutes away.
“I understand,” he tells me and kisses my hand again. “And you wished for me to kiss your lips! You cannot even stand to have your hand kissed,” he teases me when my face burns red again, playfully kissin’ my hand over and over.
“Yeah, well,” I mumble, gettin’ my dander up, “it’s all black and white movie romantic. I never seen guys kiss a girl’s hand like that in real life.”
“Is that it?” he asks, taunting me further, but in a sweet way that I like. “Romance or not, I cannot think of anything more masculine than wanting my lips on a beautiful woman.”
“Is that so?” My head turns away so he can’t see that I’m overwhelmed by how such a beautiful man is showin’ any interest in me. The absence of his thoughts only fuels my unease and desire in extreme directions. Not knowin’ his motivations or intentions is terrifying, but not havin’ to overlook stray thoughts is a relief that allows me the chance to appreciate all the little things.
I can appraise his beauty without immediately recoiling at the mind behind the mask. I can appreciate how he talks to me so patiently, but sweetly without worrying over condescension. I can enjoy the way he’s seemed to want to touch me innocently, as if his hands want nothing more than to be in contact with my skin, and not worry about ulterior motives. I don’t know that his hand has left mine once since I woke up in Gran’s house….
“Then this is where I leave you, Sookie,” Eric whispers as he gets out of the car and comes around to open my door. I’ve already opened it and am steppin’ out when he offers his hand. Wow, guys still get the door for girls? Then he’s walkin’ me up to my apartment door and the level of old school chivalry has me reeling. “Tomorrow renovations on this building begin. I apologize in advance if you find it frustratingly noisy for the next six weeks. Do not worry if you come home from school to find that your walls have been torn to shreds. They are rerunning the electricity and plumbing.”
All I can do is nod, my hand poised with the key at the lock. I don’t know that I’ve really absorbed much of what he’s said yet.
“If you need to get out after dark, call me. I will make sure you are safe,” he says quietly. Then he cups my chin and tilts my face to plant a kiss again on my forehead. His lips are cool. “Your brother has my number.”
With that, Eric steps away and waits long enough for me to enter the apartment and lock the door behind me. I go straight to the phone and call Jason at the B’n’B.
“Route 20 Buy’n’Bag,” Jason’s voice greets me tiredly.
“Hey, Jason, it’s Sookie. I just wanted to let you know I was home safe with the door locked.”
A sigh of relief comes over the receiver, “Thanks.”
“Eric said the apartment’s reno starts tomorrow and that it could be pretty noisy around here durin’ the day. Sorry, that’s gonna really screw you up,” I give him a heads up that he might want to try gettin’ his naps in somewhere else.
“I’ll see if I can crash a couple hours at Dave’s place,” Jason groans. “Shit, I’ll have to figure out how I’m gonna get you home from work tomorrow, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday.”
“What if Eric picked me up?” I suggest, crossing my fingers hopefully.
There’s a long pause over the phone, “He ain’t allowed in the apartment when I’m not there.”
“Fair enough,” I consider the restriction a moment before asking, “Am I allowed to stay out with him before he brings me home?”
“You call me when he gets to the restaurant, you’re home before 9:30, and you call me as soon as you’re locked in the apartment. If I don’t hear from you at 9:30, I’m callin’ the cops.”
“Message received!” I am grinning hugely, and hang up to let Jason get back to work. In an hour or two he’ll be studyin’ at the counter. As soon as the phone is hung up, I snatch it back from the cradle and look around for Eric’s business card. I know I saw it this mornin’?
I find it on the fridge and quickly call Eric, all but expecting to get the answering machine. When he picks up, I’m surprised.
“Sookie?” he sounds just as surprised to hear from me as I am to find he picked up.
“Hi, Eric,” I play with the phone cord nervously. “Um, I talked to Jason about the reno, and since he usually sleeps durin’ the day in spurts, he’s gonna be crashin’ at his team mate’s places for the week.”
“Ah, I forgot about his schedule,” Eric sounds regretful. “Would you two like to stay at my condo for the duration of the renovation?”
“Oh, well, I was gonna ask if you would mind pickin’ me up after work this week to put Jason at ease, but I can call my brother back and ask if he’d like that better. Where’s your condo, cause I know he’s gonna ask. We’d need to figure out the bus routes.”
Eric tells me the address and informs me that he keeps an Escalade at that location that Jason is free to use durin’ the our time there to minimize the inconvenience. I’m happy to hear that his condo is only a stone’s throw away from my school, so I could easily hoof it. The only bus I would have to catch is to work.
I quickly call Jason back, and though he’s a bit reluctant to accept so much, he admits he’d be imposing just as much on Dave in the other scenario.
After I hang up with Jason, I call Eric back, “Jason says we’d love to stay at your condo, and thank you for use of the car.”
“My pleasure,” he replies smoothly and it makes a pleasant shiver go up my spine. “However, I feel as though I have cut myself off at the knee. Allowing your brother so many accommodations has taken away the opportunity for me to spend more time with you, Sookie.”
“Well, Jason didn’t say I couldn’t still go out with you on my work nights,” I find myself whisperin’. “I’ll double check with him, but I don’t think he’d begrudge ya somethin’ I already bargained out with him.”
“I hope you can persuade him to keep our arrangement,” Eric’s voice is soft, promising.
“Me, too,” I tell him breathlessly.
There’s a long pause over the phone, as if he’s considering what to say next. Instead of some revealin’ proclamation, he simply says, “Good night, Sookie. Sleep well,” and hangs up.
Hanging up the phone, I walk to the bathroom in a daze. I shower and dress for bed, but before climbing under the covers, I pack up mine and Jason’s clothes and toiletries, except for our toothbrushes and deodorant since we’ll need them in the morning.
I dream of Eric again tonight. He is holding my face in his hands, and instead of kissing my forehead, he presses his lips to mine. They’re cool, soft, and full against my mouth. His tongue tangles with mine, dancing playfully as if we have rehearsed it over and over. When he pulls away, I taste a metallic tang. I touch my fingers to my swollen lip and look at the red stain of blood. I look up at him in surprise and he is smiling apologetically at me, his incisors elongated into sharp, pointed fangs.
When I awaken from the dream, I stretch languidly, pleasantly well rested after such a peculiar fantasy. Do I dream of Eric being a vampire because the living dead are immortal, and that would mean death could not steal him from me? Is it because I’ve only ever seen Eric at night? Maybe it’s because his skin is so cool compared to mine, or because he speaks so eloquently?
Whatever the reason, the dream did not leave me troubled. If anything, it fueled entirely new fantasies and musings. As I lay in bed a moment longer, savoring the warmth of the blanket, I laugh at myself. Who dreams of their crush being a vampire and doesn’t freak out? There’s so many different suggestions about dream theory and what an acquaintance being a vampire in a dream can imply. My subconscious could be telling me that Eric could cause trouble, grief, or anxiety. The only thought that banishes these unwelcome possibilities is how I felt waking from my dream. I felt relief, excitement and longing. There was not an ounce of anxiety within me when I woke.
After spending those final minutes examining my dream, I finally crawl out of bed and dress. I pack the clothes I had worn and quickly run to the bathroom to brush my hair and examine my face. The bruises are already beginning to fade, and I’m relieved that only one bold line from where my cheek smashed into the wall remains.
I have a quick breakfast of fruit and Cheerios before brushing my teeth and gathering my schoolwork. My grade for the history report that introduced me to Eric should be available, and I’m excited to see how I scored.
Why can’t I concentrate?
I keep thinking about that kiss in my dream, not so much the vampire part, but the actual kiss. Every so often I catch myself biting on my lip, and my thighs squeeze together without me even realizin’ it. I’m squirmy and achy, and I don’t know how I’m gonna see Eric tonight without blushin’ the whole time.
Amidst my daydreams, I catch myself about to moan and quickly cover it with a cough. I listen to the thoughts around me, but no one seems to notice that I’m sittin’ in the middle of class gettin’ turned on by a dream about a kiss.
I shift in my seat and can feel the slickness in my underwear. This is so embarrassing!
Stop it, Sookie! Stop thinkin’ ’bout that freakin’ kiss! It was just a dream. You’ve dreamed about him before and didn’t react like this! Now stop thinkin’ about it and you won’t be so turned on!
His tongue was so cool and…
What did you just tell yourself! Knock it off!
Fine, fine. I hate when I argue with myself. It just brings on the paranoia that I am actually insane. I wish I had someone to just talk it over with, someone who could confirm that I’m not crazy.
Not for the first time in my life do I contemplate tellin’ Jason that I’m a telepath. It would be easy enough for me to prove to him. All I have to do is parrot his thoughts back to him long enough for him to realize it’s no coincidence.
For the first time in my life, my inner “grown-up” voice doesn’t tell me it’s a bad idea. However, my inner “child” voice is terrified of her big brother rejecting her. I really can’t handle losin’ him, too.
Part of me wants to go back to daydreaming about Eric to avoid contemplatin’ this lifelong dilemma, but the other part wants to stay on the tormenting topic of my telepathy.
Maybe I should wait ’til I’m eighteen? Then if he wants nothin’ to do with me, at least I won’t go into foster care.
I’m angry at myself for havin’ such uncertainty toward Jason. He’s never given me a reason to believe he’d stop loving me for anything.
I’ll tell him after finals. Two days into Christmas vacation at the latest.
I resolve myself to stick to my deadline, but I can already feel myself mentally bargaining about prolonging the big reveal.
I wish I had someone to talk to about it.
Eric immediately springs to mind, and I consider the possibility of givin’ him a very hypothetical and vague description of my situation. Maybe he can help me steel my resolve some…