The Red Thread (32 page)

I jump up off the bed, causing Adam to groan in frustration, and I can’t help but laugh.

“Get dressed. I’m hungry,” I say as I turn around.

I place a kiss on Adam’s lips. He lies on the bed, his naked body looking ethereal in the sunlight that shines through the windows.

“Fine,” he says with a pout, sounding like a small child who was just denied a delicious treat.

We find our clothes, still lying by the couch, and Adam pulls on his green briefs and he follows me through the apartment into the kitchen. I pour the water into the empty silver kettle, and I place it on the stove to let the water boil. Adam’s arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to his bare body. His lips find my neck, and I can’t help but close my eyes at the glorious feeling of his mouth on my flesh.

He lifts his lips off my neck, much to my disappointment, and I turn around. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he kisses my lips. He leads me back to his bedroom. We lie back down in his bed. Our underwear comes back off, and we touch one another. I like feeling his skin on mine. I look over to the corner of his bedroom and his violin stares back.

“Will you play for me?” I ask. He smiles as he takes his violin out of its case. He stands there in silence, and then he starts to play. He closes his eyes, and a beautiful sound comes out. He is so meticulous as he plays, and I watch as he sways with the violin. It is like the entire world has drifted away for him, and he is playing a concert for one. I can’t take my eyes off him as his fingers move along the strings and the bow beautifully scratches along the violin. Every word that Adam has had trouble saying is coming out fluently through the music.

“I love you.” The words just seem to spill out of my mouth. I don’t mean to say it, but it just comes out, like my body is ready for Adam to know. I look down in embarrassment, a blush rising through my face. He stops playing, places the instrument on the floor, and he walks back to me.

Using two fingers, he lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. He smiles and says something I have only dreamed I would hear a guy say to me. “I l-l-love you t-t-too.”

A WEEK
has gone by since Adam and I first made love… and I feel wonderful. To paraphrase the definitive one-hit wonder: I’ve been walking on sunshine. Everything about that night was perfect, and now he knows the truth about my past and me. I don’t know how to describe the way I’ve been feeling. The best way is I feel like Glinda in
The Wizard of Oz
. I’m constantly traveling in a bubble, just gliding through the air. Tonight is also the big night of the
Evil Dead
marathon. Adam is picking me up in an hour so we can drive to the next town and watch three awesome movies back-to-back-to-back. Two of my favorite things together: Adam and horror films. What can be better than that?

I grab my black T-shirt, which is snug to my lean body. An artwork of
Evil Dead
sits on the front of the shirt where a badass Bruce Campbell stands there with his sawed-off boomstick, aka shotgun, and a chainsaw for a hand. Yeah, I scream
cool
.

I finish getting ready, grabbing a thin hoodie, and I hear the sound of a car pulling up outside the house. I run to my window to see Adam stepping out of his car. He is nicely dressed as usual. That bastard. I’m outside before he even rings the doorbell, and I lunge into his arms and kiss him. He wraps his arms around my waist, and he laughs into the kiss. The drive to the theater is no more than a half hour, and it goes by smoothly. Adam holds my hand for most of the car ride, and I smile as he sings (quite badly) to the music on the radio.

We make it to the theater, and it’s one of those old-fashioned-looking theaters where the ticket booth is situated outside. A young man, around eighteen or nineteen, sits inside behind the glass window. He holds a comic book in his hands and chews bubble gum. A very short line stands outside his booth.

Adam and I park, and he takes my hand as we get in the line. I don’t know what is more exciting: seeing all the
Evil Dead
movies again or seeing them with Adam. Adam isn’t that knowledgeable about horror films, so I’m excited for him to take these goretastic movies in. I rest my head on his shoulder, and he wraps his arm around my waist. Yeah, I can get used to this.

I check my watch to see it’s only 4:30 p.m. We still have fifteen minutes until the first movie begins. It’s funny how many times I can watch a movie, yet each time I get excited like it’s my first time watching it all over again. My heart races, and my fingers tap against my side. I am on the borderline of jumping in my spot, feeling like a giddy child. Horror films have always given me a sense of happiness and safety. It’s funny to say that about a genre that is notorious for trying to scare you and make you feel unsafe… but for me, it makes me feel welcomed. Every time I watch a horror film, I feel as if I am returning home. It is the exact same feeling that literature provides for me. Two mediums of art, and yes horror films are an art, each very different, but both provide me with fulfillment that is necessary for a person to live a satisfying life.

A group of three young guys, all around eighteen, gets in line behind us. I watch them call out a hello, and the boy behind the glass waves back. So the boy behind the glass has friends. He isn’t just there to look pretty. I take them all in with their designer jeans and their colorful polo shirts, with their collars popped. Come on. Who even pops their collars anymore? It’s lame, and trust me I know lame. I am the King of Lame. I should make a papier-mâché crown or something.

We get to the ticket booth, and I feel my excitement growing in anticipation for the gory mayhem we’re about to see on a big screen. The young man looks up at us with the most vapid gaze I’ve ever seen. It’s as if nothing is going on in there. He pops a bubble of his gum. I start to reach for my wallet, but Adam stops my hand, and he smiles.

“T-t-two t-t-t-t-tickets f-f-for
Evil D-Dead
, p-p-please,” he says to the young man.

“What are you? Retarded?”

Everything seems to fall apart, like paint dripping away on a canvas. The smile disappears from Adam’s face, and I feel his fingers tighten around my hand. I look back to see the three teenage boys, who are really just children, laughing among each other. They must think they’re fucking hilarious.

“Grow the fuck up,” I spit, mustering as much venom as I can. I try to keep my voice loud, not to let it falter.

“What? Can’t the retard stand up for himself? Or is he t-t-t-too a-a-afraid,” one of the boys laughs, mocking his stutter. If I could kill them, I would. Adam isn’t responding. He isn’t even moving. He quietly takes out his wallet and hands over the cash, taking the two tickets. He pulls me away by my hand, but I manage to flip them the middle finger before disappearing inside.

By the time we’re sitting down in the theater, Adam hasn’t said a word. I look over, and he just looks like a zombie. He doesn’t seem to move or smile. He blinks and breathes.

“Are you okay?” I compassionately ask. “Those guys are assholes who don’t deserve our time. They’re immature fucktards.”

Adam simply nods but doesn’t look at me.

“Come on. Look at me. We’re supposed to have a good time….” And then the three assholes come in. “Shit.”

Adam looks down into his lap, and the three assholes look up at us, and they burst out into a roaring laughter. They want us to see them, because they can’t just talk to each other. They have to make their presence known. I had to deal with bullies throughout all of school, and they want you to know when they’re talking about you. They want you to feel as miserable as they do. Why else would they want to make some stranger feel awful? They must live some fucked-up lives. At least that is what our parents teach us growing up: that bullies bully because they have their own problems. I do wonder how much of that is true. Maybe some people are just born assholes.

“We can leave,” I whisper. I don’t want to be here if Adam is going to be upset. He should be happy all the time and smiling.

He looks over at me and gives me a smile, but I know it’s forced, and trust me, because I’m the master of forcing faked smiles. “I-i-i-it’s okay.”

“We don’t have to stay here,” I reassure him. He doesn’t have to be strong for me.

He shakes his head. “You were s-s-s-s-so excited f-f-f-for the m-movies. We’re n-n-not going to, to l-leave.” He looks over at the three little douche bags. “I’m n-n-not going t-t-t-to let them r-r-r-run us out of here.”

I grab him and kiss him. “I love you.”

He kisses back and smiles into the kiss. “I l-l-love you too.”

“How sweet,” an annoyingly high-pitched voice calls out. Ah, how mature. They’re trying to mock a stereotypical gay man’s voice. Someone should tell them not all gay men sound like that.

“Just ignore them,” I tell him. Or maybe I should tell myself this advice, because I’ve never felt the urge to get up and beat the shit out of someone so badly in my life. Adam is literally the nicest person I have ever met, and now we have these three fuckers feeling the need to harass him.

At last the first movie begins, and Adam and I turn our attention to the screen. The three kids never stop talking or laughing at the movie. They make fun of the cheesy effects and the acting—it’s a low-budget film, geez, not to mention it’s art—and I just want to duct tape their mouths shut. I still manage to block their voices out and watch the film with wide-open eyes like a child watching a cartoon. The ending is complete chaos, and the gore is just wonderful. When the film comes to an end, I have to fight the urge to stand up and applaud.

“Wow,” Adam states. Is that a good wow or a bad wow? “Th-th-that w-w-w-was interesting,” he goes on.

“Good interesting?”

Before he can answer, someone screams “Hey retard!” Adam looks down at the ground, and the three guys get out of their seats. They make their way up to us, sitting down right behind our row.

“Did you forget how to talk?” one of them mocks.

“Just leave us alone,” I demand, trying to sound tough… but I know the tremble in my voice gives me away.

They all smirk. I want to kill them. I want to kill them all. Watching their smug faces, I feel an intense anger bubbling up inside me. I feel it in the pit of my stomach. It’s not like when the sadness pulls me back into the dark place… no, this is something more intense. It’s like a volcano is sitting in my stomach, preparing to erupt. I feel the hot molten lava coursing through my veins. Adam remains silent beside me, his eyes cast toward the ground. I watch a tear slide down his cheek, and I want to just kiss it away. I want to make him forget about the pain in life that I feel every day. He should never feel the pain I feel.

I look down to see my hands balled into fists. My hands tremble, wanting to break free and to make contact with their faces… until they feel the soft touch of Adam’s fingers. I look up at him. His blue eyes plead with me to let it go… but I don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to let it go. I can’t let these people win. Why does the bad always win?

“L-l-let’s go.” Barely a whisper, but I hear Adam. We get up, and we walk out in silence, letting the jeers disappear with the theater. The car ride is spent in silence. I don’t know what to say. I’ve never seen Adam look so heartbroken in my life. He doesn’t cry, but he just looks so broken. Something has finally cracked his happy exterior.

“Adam,” I say finally breaking the silence.

Silence. His eyes don’t leave the road. He continues to drive until we’re outside my house.

“I w-w-w-will t-t-text you t-t-t-tomorrow,” he says.

I watch him drive away. That’s it. No good-bye. No kiss. I’m only left with the thought of wanting to take away his pain. I find myself walking through the house, ending up in my bed. I stare up at the ceiling.

I forget sometimes I’m not the only one with darkness in my life. That’s a pretty selfish thing of me to think. I guess that just adds to the tragic nature of my well-being. Adam has his own issues too… and I’m not there for him. Everyone has their issues and their pain, but I’m always so stuck in my head trying to get away from mine. Maybe I’d be better off dead….

As much as I try to escape, I feel the tiny hands of the darkness seeping into my life and planting their seeds into my core. I want to stop them, but I feel powerless to them. I am nothing but a slave to my own darkness.

I WAKE
up to three texts from Adam, each one longer than the last.

Hey, I’m so sorry about last night!

Then,
Are you there? I really am so sorry.

And finally,
If you’re ignoring me I understand. I was a real ass last night. I shouldn’t have ignored you. It wasn’t your fault.

I grab my phone and I text him back.
Don’t worry. I was just asleep. You didn’t ruin anything. Those assholes from last night did.

He quickly texts back.
Okay, good! The moment I woke up I felt awful about my behavior last night. I want to make it up to you. I want to go on a date part 2.

I smile at the text.
Sure. That’d be great!

Thank you!

As I smile at the text, something just doesn’t feel right. It’s like there is a cannibalistic pit in my stomach that is just eating away at my body. It’s scratching at my flesh and tearing apart my bones. Adam isn’t mad at me… so shouldn’t I be feeling good? Shouldn’t I be feeling happy?

Maybe I’d be better off dead.
The thought from last night still resides in my mind. For a while I’ve been trying to push those thoughts away, but they never truly go away. They just lie dormant for a little while, just like a volcano. It slowly rises until it is ready to explode. I’m not ready to explode yet, but I feel it just below the surface, waiting. It wants to truly torture me until I can’t take it anymore.

I shower and get dressed, and I find myself in the kitchen. My family is sitting down to breakfast, and I hear their laughter. My mom sits in front of my sister. My dad is at work right now. They both turn to me and smile, and I force one out. I can’t let them see the darkness in me. They have been nothing but amazing, and I can’t let them think I’m slipping once again. I’ll just pretend. For them.