Chapter Text
They say when you are sad, whatever you love can make you happy. Like a book. Or a cup of tea or coffee. Or a song. Or your favourite TV shows. Anyone can be happy in simple things like that. But in my case, it's hard to be happy. Why, you ask? The problem with what they say about what can make you happy, is that, what if the thing--people that makes you happy is already gone? And whatever's left for you to remember them makes you sadder?
Fucking hard, right?
It's silly and childish how one can be happy with the simple things I just mentioned. I mean, those are temporary happiness. It doesn't make you truly happy. It just consoles you for a bit, and when you emptied your cup, or when you finished the book, or when the TV show finally ended, the happiness you felt fades away together with those things, in exchange for the sadness you kept on masking with temporary happiness.
No, you can't tell me that as long as you have unlimited coffee or tea mix or gazillion books or hundreds of TV show seasons, you can be happy for as long as you want. It doesn't work that way. Trust me, I know.
"You're really a mystery, Claude." Out of the blue, Alexandria suddenly spoke. Me? A mystery?
I gave her a 'what-do-you-mean' look (no, I'm not going to sing) and raised an eyebrow at her. She chuckled. "You're so flirty, yet..."
I smirked at her, teasing. "Yet?"
She laid her chin on top of her arms and tilted her head to one side. "Yet there's something wrong with your eyes. Like--like they hide something..."
"Something?" I asked. "Yeah, I look innocent but when you look deep into my eyes, you could see porn."
She laughed. "Silly boy. What I mean is that--you seem to be shallow, but when you look deeper..." She leaned in an stared right into my eyes, like really, really stared. Her brown eyes boring a hole right through my soul. My hand unconsciously moved to touch her face slowly.
She didn't move, "Alexandria." I muttered her name. And then I let her go.
"Wow, your hand's warm," she said. "I could still feel its imprint. Woah..." She said as she felt her face. I chuckled.
"Yeah, my hands are hot. If my hand alone feels hot already, what more if you felt my whole body?" I joked, playing with a blue and a red M&M before tossing them inside my mouth.
"Probably a thousand degrees hotter you could make people blind just by staring at you." She countered.
"That's true, though."
She wrinkled her nose and rolled her eyes. "Wow, your ancestors must have been related to Megamind or something. God, your head's huge as hell."
I winked. "Which head do you mean?"
"Oh, damn," she face-palmed. "I'm so done with you, you fuckboy."
"What?" I laughed. "I'm just telling the truth!"
I grabbed the titanic bag of M&Ms and realized that it's almost empty. "You really love M&Ms, don't you?"
M&Ms are like my replacement for beer. A month after their death, I dreamt of my mom. She actually scolded me in my dream, telling me to focus on life and live normally and shit like that. "This kid, really," she said, her hands on her hips. In the dream, I flunked science because I hated memorizing such crap like the endless theories about the solar system about strings and explosions and vortex or the planetisimals or the perpetuation of life or flower reproduction.
My mom scolding me felt so real. It was as if it is really happening. "You won't graduate in that state, young man. You're already in your last year of junior high. And what the hell are you doing? Drinking beer because of this?" She asked, showing me my midterms. "Drinking won't solve your problem." She threw me three packs of M&Ms. "Eat this while studying instead of drinking beer acting like a corny heartbroken second male lead in a drama." She slammed my head with my science textbook and Lianne's notes. "Hoping that would help make the information transfer from the paper to your brain."
Yeah. It's one of the the reasons why I loved M&Ms--it kept me going through the night as I reviewed and guess what, I passed.
Remembering my mom's angry face at me made me smile. Yeah, she might beat my ass sometimes (not), but I'd rather have her like that than not having her at all.
"Gosh, you're really weird today, Claude. You're smiling for, like, about four seconds ago and now you look like you've comitted something terrible."
Yeah. I did. It may be years ago, but I did. I fucking did. I was the reason for this whole bullshit. I didn't give Dad his coffee--with his meds mixed in--the day we were supposed to be having fun. If I gave it to him, we could've had the best time of our lives. We could've been singing our hearts out. We could've eaten everything off the menu. We could've shopped, even though I hate shopping. We could've been happy.
Why is it so hard to be happy?
I can sing, because it is one of the things that reminds me of them. But remembering them pains me. So I won't.
I can listen to music, because it can make me me again. But I don't want to be me again. So I won't.
I can remember them, but the pain, the loneliness, and, shit, the guilt, is killing me. So I won't.
I can love. But I couldn't even love myself, how could I love someone? So I won't.
I unconsciously answered her. "I did."