When I'd told Mother about me moving in with Jesse, she didn't ask why or beg me to stay. I got a congratulatory smile and a promise that she'd pay my share of the rent. Fine with me—I quit being sore weeks ago. She offered to pay Jesse's share, as well, since she liked him so much. But he respectfully declined, saying that the work keeps him grounded. What an amazing guy. We've only been living together two days now, and I can admit that I didn't think this through.
Oh, no, there is nothing wrong. Only having to be around the man I love but cannot have all hours of the day. Gets tiresome, if you can imagine. Ever get that way about someone? Their very presence makes you ache something awful. Hard to breathe. Want to die—that sort-of thing. Then there was the whole issue about the drugs, but I refuse to worry about that right now.
As I stand in my finally-finished room, I can't help but feel triumphant. Unpacking all these boxes was the first real thing I ever did on my own. Jess, and even Troy, offered to help but I was insistent on handling it alone. My room is nice, I think. Jesse and I share the same carpet, but my walls were a dark gray color. My furniture is also nicer and more abundant, cluttering my room. The TV in my old room is bigger than the one the boys have in the living room, so we happily reached the agreement of a switch. I don't mind it, though, because now that I have a real friend, I don't feel the need to stay in my room because I'm scared of an empty house.
I know I said I was stressed about the Jesse issue, but when I look at the big picture it's hard to be anything less than elated. Ironic though it may be coming from an addict, I've been a pretty sheltered person most of my life. When my dad died, everything changed. That's when Mom was gone a lot, so I never really got to go out and experience the world. And naturally I grew to fear the unknown, so when I got older it was something I avoided. I have never had any real experiences, and this is my first one. Although there are larger things at stake here, I am still grateful that this can be shared with Jesse.
"The room looks great."
I snap my head in the direction of the doorway and see his stunning grin of innocence. You know who he is. "It does," I say, more to myself.
Jesse, who had been leaning against the doorframe, walks in and sits on the edge of my bed. "You know . . ." he trails off. "I know this must have been hard for you. It was for me when I left home. I—I uh, viewed it as accepting defeat; I hated myself for doing it, and have continued to up until this very moment. But do not look at it in a negative way. You did the right thing and, for what it's worth, I am so proud of you."
Too happy to speak, I smile at him and take the computer chair to his left. "Why did you hate yourself until now?"
Because, Roman, I am in love with you.
He laughs to himself before looking me in the eye. "Because the way I viewed myself for leaving is not the way I view you for leaving. You are doing nothing wrong here, and neither did I." When he stands to go, I want to grab him by his sexy hands and beg for him to stay. Yeah, I know I could just follow him into the living room and hang out there. But we were so close here—physically as well as mentally. It was a moment, if you will. We were having a moment. I didn't want it to leave. But. I let him get up anyway. "Yeah, the room looks nice," he finishes softly.
He looks around again with a sad look in his eye, forces a fake-ass smile to me for not even two seconds, then starts to walk out. The true nature of his words begin sinking in, and I realize that I
had
been angry. No, I doubt it was self-hatred. But there was a lot of anger and hurt within myself over my decision. I had been viewing my move as selfish and thinking
why can't you stay and make it work with her?
Jess made me realize she was the reason I was leaving, and I was doing it for myself not in a selfish way, but in a way that makes me a strong person. After all, it wasn't easy accepting that she and I are a lost cause. I mean, she is my mother.
I have to tell him that. "It means everything, by the way." He stops in the doorway and gives me a confused look, so I continue. "Your pride in me—it means everything. Thank you for talking to me, Jesse. It helped more than you know." Saying his name aloud set me ablaze inside.
A genuine, warm, modest smile is not only on his lips but in his eyes, as well. He gives me a polite nod and walks out, leaving me smiling to myself. Sometimes I have to wonder if he knows I am in love with him. I hide it well, but moments like these I feel give me away and leave me naked to him. They also make me think he loves me, too.
. . . .
When I wasn't living with Jesse it was only natural for me to be ignorant about his withdrawals. When we would be hanging out everything seemed fine to me—part of the reason I could only assume he was still using. But after a few weeks of living with him I have finally begun to see when he is having symptoms of withdrawal. The withdrawal symptoms of Klonopin aren't as lethal and hard to deal with as, let's say, heroin. Not even close. But as with any type of withdrawal, K-Pin comes with its fair share of symptoms and is a bitch to deal with.
Some nights I can hear him in his room cursing to himself and moving around constantly. I can fall asleep and wake up at 5 AM to piss, and he will be doing the same thing he was six hours ago. The day that follows is full of depression and him being slightly aggravated by small things we do. Luckily, Troy and I know to take his attitude with a grain of salt, something that was especially important for me to do. I can't be taking every little bad thing to heart, especially when I know it is more or less out of his control.
Another thing about Klonopin withdrawals, thankfully, is that they last only around three months. They should be gone soon, and I am so excited. Not for myself, but for him. It hurts me to the point of tears having to watch him suffer in any way. If I could trade places I would, but I would never tell him that. Not only would it be really corny, but his symptoms are so sporadic sometimes that I never know what he'll look into and what he'll just let go through one ear and out the other.
I talked to a doctor for him—too impatient for the side-effects to naturally go away. It was recommended that instead of him quitting cold turkey, we wean him off. Naturally, Jesse was all for the idea of getting back on those pills so long as he hid behind the idea that it was to make him better. A few days ago he got fucked up on pills, and his entire demeanor was different. Seeing how happy he was after being high was a huge contrast to what I was beginning to view as his normal attitude. I guess sinking into depression was so gradual of a thing for him that I didn't even notice how unhappy he seemed.
Back to his normal, outgoing self we goof off and stuff, and it is good to have him back. Tonight we are going to Outback just for the sake of getting out the house (his idea). This is something I guess I am pretty stoked about; I haven't eaten out in such a long time. The girl sits us down, and I sit next to Troy—Jesse opposite us. Seemed only fair since he is the only connection we have to one another. The waiter that comes is extremely cute with pretty-boy looks. He asks me and Troy for our drink orders and then when he looks at Jesse he smiles.
