He's been so quiet. I haven't seen too much of him because I've been at work training days, being treated like a schoolkid, playing stupid games that make me want to shoot myself. I'm going to join the pension scheme, because they have me suitably terrified about my poverty stricken old age, I should have started my pension two years ago! ARGH. The most depressing video ever - "I don't need a pension! I won't be here forever.... that's what I said 12 years ago." FUCK. If I'm still a checkout guy in 12 years, I will kill myself!
Well, I was so bored yesterday, I spent the whole day zoning out and thinking about sex, and accidentally giving my pen a blowjob and so on. I thought my 'not giving in to Rich' decision might cave in after that day. But it didn't.
He was quiet. Ate dinner, mind you, which is an improvement. He's so thin, it can't be healthy - I saw him shirtless, visible ribs and his stomach seems almost... sunken when he breathes. I must have turned completely white looking at it, mouth hanging open in shock - he might have thought I was being lusty, but I was being terrified for him. He used to be... muscley, almost. His arms still have muscle, it seems almost more defined with the lack of body fat, but soon his body is going to start eating away at that, too. This is like some sort of drawn out suicide.
He stayed locked away in his bedroom most of the evening, came and talked to me around midnight. He looked so little and lost, just hovering in the doorway, pale and thin like something from another world.
I asked him if he was ok, and he just stood there shaking his head, like he'd only just realised that something was wrong... like he'd woken up in the wrong place, scared and lonely. I wanted to scoop him up in my arms and cradle him, protect him from himself. "Tell me what's wrong." It was like he'd forgotten how to speak, head shaking away like he was trying to shake the thoughts out of it. Of course, I think I already know what's wrong - but I would rather he said it for himself. He just walked away, but this time, I followed. Into the kitchen, cup of tea, the british cure to everything. And he took it, hands shaking, probably from a nicotine overload, hunger, exhaustion, all mixed together. "You know, things seem a lot worse when you're tired like this, you have to get a proper sleep." "I can't." I just nodded, remembering my own sleepless nights, worrying myself literally sick. "Well, just to relax, then, to be calm."
I let him get into my bed, clothed, said I wouldn't have sex with him because not only is it making me feel like crap, it's not helping him figure things out. If he wants to... well, that should be enough evidence right there. I think he half wants to because he's hoping that he'll suddenly hate it and realise it's all a terrible mistake, but... it doesn't work like that. But I would stay with him, let him cry into my shoulder and hold him as he finally exhausted himself, basically cried himself to sleep. Woke with the alarm to a numb arm, soaked shirt and him looking like a little doll. "I'm going to work, just stay here, go back to sleep. I'll see you later."
He seems... a little better. Quiet, still, but not quite as... harsh as he has been. Little smiles and nervous glances, no bitterness or anger, but a step up from the complete apathy he seemed to be in. I'm not pushing it. Like a scared animal, he will come to me eventually. |
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