Alexithymia

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the following franchise material. I wish I did so I could pay off my college debt and rent a small, leaky apartment in St. Louis that was not above a bowling alley. This document was not produced in accordance with all UN charters FCC and EEC, ABC, or EFG rules and regulations. No cruelty to animals or disrespect for religious, racial, atypical, profoundly handicapped, sexually deviant or Mennonite minorities was ever intended. If you find this document to be offensive or politically incorrect on this page, then you must submit to a philosophy test in which the question is “Does this document even really exist?” Protip: The answer is ‘No’.


"You sit there in your heartache, waiting on some beautiful boy to save you from your old ways" - When You Were Young by The Killers

Why are the mornings always so slow on Sundays? I can smell what's left of a burnt pot of coffee and the aerosol hairspray my wife had flamboyantly coated the room with. On days like these, my first coherent thought is 'fuck' followed immediately by 'goddamnit, I hate when this happens'. If I told you why, you wouldn't question my motives for waking up and keeping my eyes shut.

There's an interesting thing about my house- it's sealed in plastic. Well, not really, but it might as well be. I'm afraid to touch the hardwood floors with my feet lest I leave footprints in my wake. So I put on my slippers, still with my eyes closed. The bathrobe goes on too. Heaven forbid my wife see my bare torso. I could tell by the smell of slightly burning hair and some strange chemicals she was probably still fussing with her hair. I don't get it. She was already beautiful. To each his own.

I hear her say something to me passively. I'm guessing she wants me to take out last night's trash before I leave for work or maybe she wants me to feed the dog. I hate that dog, it doesn't even come to me when I call not unlike someone else. She goes back to her vanity and I slowly drag myself to a stand, my back popping into place as it does. I feel like an old man in the morning when my joints realign.

I love showering. You have no idea.

It may be the only part of the day when I get to live out my fantasies.

Just the feel of the scorching hot water sets me on edge. Despite popular belief, we have excellent water pressure up here; the city folk don't know what they're missing. I suppose this is my moment of vanity for the day. Washing away the cares of yesterday to the scent of Mountain Springs soap. I love casting my mind wherever it may land. It generally finds itself slathered between his thighs, melting like butter on toast. Other times it's cast around his cock, feeling the tip hit the back of my throat as I gag and submit to his wishes. Then there's the sound of ringing that-ringing?

Why is there ringing? Is there a cell phone in my bathroom? Who takes a phone in here, honestly?

My wife does.

I could hear her bolt up and clamber to the door with complete disregard to my privacy. Why does she do this? It's not like it would be that hard to knock on the door or, unthinkable as it might be, return the call later? And why is she looking at me like that? Why is the shower door made of glass? She is not opening the door, she is not, no, no, no, and here is where my day goes bad.

It's not like my masturbating in the shower is a public access channel. She just barges in here and is fully aware of what I'm doing and proceeds to interrupt. I thought she wanted her stupid phone. Now what is she doing? Yes, I am very aware that I have a penis and so are you. No, no I am completely unaware of what I'm doing in my own shower- oh, our shower, my mistake. No, I am not going to scrub the shower clean after, I don't see you doing anything after you bleed all over it for a week. What? I'm not a pervert. Don't you even pretend to act offended and disgusted. There was a time when- oh sure, sure, it's all my fault. I don't even know what you're going on about now. Maybe if you'd stop covering your mouth with your freshly manicured hand then I could respond to you. What! No, I don't do this in every bathroom I'm in, what's wrong with you. Seriously? I'm not even listening anymore.

"Maybe if you didn't treat me like a damn disease I wouldn't have to self-service."

Well that shut her up.

At least she's going away. I'll probably have to sit through some dull conversation about this later and she'll want me to apologize.

And clean the shower.

She forgot her phone. I wonder if she even notices.

I really want to go see Pic. I don't think I can handle much more stupidity this early in the morning.

I don't even care about what I'm wearing today. If one must know, it's sweatpants and a T-shirt, both with my high school's logo. Go ahead and laugh all you want, but I work there. It's been awhile since I've worn orange.
I stop downstairs to greet my daughter. She's plugged into her headphones. I'd have to leave a message. My wife left and took the car. I didn't have anything I wanted to do anyway. Just the thought of what she. Ugh. Best not to think of that now. I've got to get out of this tile and disinfectant bath.

So I grabbed the toast Videl left in the toaster while she was trying to get as far away from me as physically possible. It may have been cold but it was food nevertheless. I didn't feel like eating but I did anyway. Maybe I could have choked.

The grass is decidedly unpleasant today. And it's cold and dark outside. What time is it? I reached into my pocket only to find my wife's cell phone. I must have grabbed it out of habit. The bathroom is still no place for a phone. It said that it was 9:00am.

Nine in the morning and dreary and all I want to do is curl up and crawl back to sleep but I was already outside and well past the point of no return. It's okay though. I'm going to go to him.

When people say that their feet carry them places and they don't remember how they got there, it's true. My feet do it all the time. I found myself sitting at Pic's waterfall on a moss-covered rock overlooking the water. I felt like a weird mermaid. But I waited for him to find me. I knew he would; I kept my ki slightly elevated so he would have to notice.

As I predicted, he was there within five minutes and with a confused look on his face.

"What brings you out here in the morning?" That raspy voice of his forces me to pay attention.

I'm like a dog to a whistle.

I stammered something stupid out like I just felt like being here or that I missed the view. He wasn't going to buy it, I knew that from the start, so he sat down next to me, the thick cloth of his cape sweeping around him as he did.

But he doesn't look directly at me; I think he knows just how awkward this is.

We sat in silence for a while. Well, he did anyway. I kept fidgeting around like a ADD child playing with his cape and making small, soft sounds trying to force the bile out of my mouth just long enough to say a couple words.

"I need to talk to you" I said. My throat felt like constricting. This was stupid.

"I gathered that." He calmly glanced over at me, his endlessly dark eyes still had their characteristic scowl attached.

"Do you ever wish you had done things differently?" I felt the stereotypical after school special ploy sweeping over me. It damn near made me nauseous.

He paused for a moment in recollection before answering, "Things happened for a reason."

"And what if that's not good enough?" There was more to this than me.

"Then you can either accept what you have or. . ." His voice faded out.

"Or?"

"What is this about, Gohan?"

I choked when he said that and tried to cover it up with a laugh. Kami I hate how transparent I am to him.
"I'm not completely blind, Gohan."

"And you're certainly not deaf." That was such a horrible joke. I flinched while saying it.

He did not seem amused.

"Things come much easier when you tell the truth. Lying has never been your strong suit."

I had to look away from him. This whole thing was dishonest. Why change now?
"So you know-"

"I know what you know, Gohan." Well that went and complicated the hell out of things.

I really wanted to have a good day today.

"Well, what do you think of this?" I interlocked my fingers over my knee just so I wouldn't fidget. I didn't know what else to do with them.

"I think you should go home before you hurt yourself, kid." No.

No.

No.

No, I will not go home and crawl under the covers like I want to.

No, I will not go home and make things easier because I'm starting to really like complicated because everything up until this point in my life has been so horribly complicated and frustrating and in Technicolor that I felt that my organs were going to explode and spew vitamin supplements and spinach into this disgusting, cacophonous catastrophe that I have the fortitude to call my life.

So I said the only thing that made sense. "No"

His eyebrow ridge perked up.

"I can't."

"You have to."

"No I don't" Hey, Five Year Old Gohan called, he wants his comebacks back.

"Nothing good will come of this."

"Bullshit."

And then he started to walk away. Why does everyone leave me when I start to show the slightest hint of backbone?
When I grabbed him, he stopped like a moose in the headlights. Just staring, waiting.

"I need you to be here right now." Don't cry, don't cry, you're not that depressed Gohan. You really aren't and you don't need to act out because the little old rain cloud ruined your parade.

"I'm doing this for you, Gohan." He tried to get away from me again, but his heart wasn't in it. It was like holding back a kid from getting a shot.

"Stop trying to protect me. I'm not a child anymore and I can handle myself." I let my power slip for just an instant so he could see what I meant. I'm getting old.

"If you want to be an adult, then act like one!" And he would have taken my head off with that snap if it wasn't so rudely crafted onto my shoulders. "Look at yourself, Gohan!" So I did. I didn't like what I saw. "You come here so you can forget what is behind you." He took me by the shoulders and pointed me towards my home. I could just barely make the dim electric glow out in the morning. He put his lips right next to my ear; I had no choice but to listen. "I won't let you rip yourself apart like this. You'll destroy yourself."

"Then let me." I don't care anymore. I just don't want to go back and live out my part.

I waited for an answer that never came.

Oh, I knew he had one, and it was a good one knowing him, but he said nothing.

Nothing.

I felt broken in that moment.

I needed to be held so badly that I took his arms and placed them loosely around me. It felt so weak but I needed it. After awhile he didn't mind so much and just held me. It was just me and him holding each other on a cool Sunday morning and there was nothing more.

"We could have stayed like this."

"Not forever."

"Do you ever think things will be different?"

And he killed me with his silence.

Fin

**Note I'm trying a different sort of style with my writing. What I'm going to try and go for (Eventually) is a very personal and Palahniuk-esque feel. Tell me if you like! Maybe things will shape up, eh?