Page 31 of Meet Cute

There’s something so heartbreakingly pathetic about having another grown man in a position like this. If I was a more capable person I’d push him off and tell him to go fuck himself, but I can’t.

It makes my stomach hurt with sorrow even though he doesn’t deserve any of it. He’s the last person who deserves even a lick of pity from me, yet I’m probably going to give it to him anyway.

TWENTY-FOUR

My mother always said I had a big heart. I just never realized how big it really was until now, since I’m sitting here idiotically stroking the head of a man who’s not fully present.

Despite not replying, Finn doesn’t press any further. He seems content to lay there, enjoying the crumbs of my affection. It isn’t until he starts snoring softly do I realize he’s asleep.

A dark thought takes hold of me: could I kill him? If I grabbed the pillow he gave me and held it over his head, would it be enough? What happens after I do that? Could I really bring myself to crawl up the stairs? Out of the house? What if we’re out in the middle of nowhere?

There’s so many things I don’t know, and I don’t think I’m brave enough to find out what would happen. I’m not tired at all. The past few days—or maybe it’s only been hours—have been nothing but sleeping.

I wish I knew what to do.

All my life I thought that when push came to shove I’d be a fighter. Someone to spring into action and take care of myself. But I was so wrong. So horribly wrong to the point it’s hard to know who I even am anymore.

My life has honestly been nothing. No friends, no family, nothing. It’s all nothing. I’m weak and useless and I probably deserve all of this. Who did I think I was? I thought I was doing something nice, but I was only sealing my fate in the end.

My fate—which I never even thought was a real thing—is in the hands of someone so unstable he thought falling asleep in his captive’s arms was safe. If I was anyone else, he’d be dead. I’m sure of it. Luckily enough for him, I’m an actual idiot.

Was any of his act real? Was this plan the entire time? How can somebody seem so sweet and innocent but have such a nasty core underneath? He always seemed so helpless, so soft… But was any of that him?

Surely it couldn’t have all been a lie, especially not when he's so at peace with his cheek nestled up against my thick thigh. I really regret not eating earlier. I already had been struggling to eat and now my next meal isn’t guaranteed.

Before everything I was an aspiring gym rat, but that was too stressful so eventually I gave up and ended with a body between lean and chubby. It’s almost scary to imagine what I’d look like if I lost more weight and became some kind of twink.

Finn on the other hand is soft around the edges, yet underneath that softness is something stronger. That sort of adds to his unassuming nature. You’d never guess the quiet cashier had all that going on underneath his baggy sweatshirts.

Was that on purpose? Am I the first person he’s done all this to? All these questions are making my head hurt even more, but nothing hurts more than my legs. It’s a muted pain, like turning on the TV real quiet so you feel a little less lonely.

“Duncan…” his voice is hoarse, thick with sleep despite the fact he was only out for fifteen or so minutes. ”It’s cold down here…” Finn shifts, letting his head fall onto my shoulder. “I wanna go upstairs, but… I want… Will you come?”

I must be exhausted because I just laugh humorlessly in his face. “Why are you asking me? It’s not like I have a choice.”

He frowns, but doesn't dare argue. “I know, but… I’m trying…” The sheets rustle as he climbs off the bed, yawning and stretching before turning back to me. “Do you want to? Please?”

“Finn…” I pause, trying to read his face for any emotion other than desperation. It is cold down here, that much is true. Going upstairs would also help me better figure out where the hell I am, but I also don’t know what exactly is waiting for me up there.

But finding out is better than nothing, right?

“Okay,” I gulp, “I’ll come upstairs.”

His face lights up the same way a Christmas tree does, and I’m not all that certain I made the right call. Before I can so much as hesitate, Finn scoops me up in his arms. His grip is firm, and feels weirdly secure.

Finn makes it seem like I’m weightless, holding me close to his chest. His shirt reeks of body spray and sweat, but I wasn’t expecting him to be the pinnacle of hygiene anyways.

The staircase groans with each step, and for some stupid reason my heart is racing. The lights upstairs grow closer until we finally reach the top. He kicks the door closed once we’re in the tight hallway.

“My dad and I used to live here,” Finn explains while taking me God knows where. In a blur of motion I see a small kitchen area and a circular wooden table, followed by a scratched up brown door. “He’s gone, though. J-Just me… and you, now!”

When he kisses the crown of my head I physically recoil, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Instead he shoulders the door open to reveal the master bedroom. The first thing that hits me is the smell—gross, but not unbearable. One load of laundry could probably fix everything.

Baby blue walls are littered with band and movie posters alike. My car radio is usually low-energy stuff, but the posters here are loud. Metal and screamo and everything you wouldn’t expect from someone with a sweet face and a prominent stammer.

His unmade bed sits in the corner of the room, and amidst the crumpled green sheets are game console controllers and random pieces of notebook paper. There’s a clock sitting on the nightstand, and an empty soda can.

Finn seems sort of ashamed when he drops me down on the bed. The mattress must be old since it practically screams at our combined weight. He doesn’t pay it any mind though, crawling around me before pulling me in his arms like a full body pillow.