I’m rather hesitant to leave the room. It’s not that I fear JC or what he’ll say, even do, it’s the simple fact that he knows.
My secret. My last and personal memory of my heaven. Exposed. Open. Told To the one and only person that I never wanted to know.
Fear is nothing close to describe what I’m feeling. I keep hearing footsteps. They’re coming closer every second. I watch the knob, it turns.
There he stands.
“You passed out. You’re up now.”
Did I? Was I so overwhelmed at the idea of him knowing that I simply blacked out? “You’re sweating.”
“It’s hot in the bus. AC is out.”
I can feel the cold air hitting my arm from an open vent. “I remembered.”
“Figured that when you stopped moving and fell. At least now you know.” He chewed on his bottom lip. Britney’s scent came off strong from him.
I nodded. “I went psycho.”
“Yes. But for future references, never call me Justin again.”
What? Justin? “I didn’t…”
“Yeah you did. You turned on me, cut me, whatever. Then repeatedly called me Justin. I know what you said. Why? You don’t remember?”
Was he covering up the truth? Or did I slip and say Justin instead of Gennie? Was his state of denial to large and deeply emerged inside that nothing was true? “No. I thought it was a different name.”
He grew silent. Almost too quiet, really. Eerie feeling. His body quit moving, he was immobile. His breathing stopped, his eyes stared out coldly in a small corner of the room. I wanted to reach out and touch him, making sure he was still alive. It was all too unreal. Uncanny. Snapping out of his “phase” of being a mannequin, “His name. I don’t care about Britney, but Justin is mine.”
“Hand off. Got it.”
“Good.” He walked out.
I wanted to scream after him, yell and spit it out at him. But I whispered it to myself. “Liar.”