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COMACRESCENDO
His hands were still tingling. He could gladly have pushed Mahdi one more time – always thought he was so fucking cool. Jonas could go to hell. He was thoroughly dense! Had Jonas always been this dumb? And Magnus, for all those bloody stories he always told, one bigger and more unbelievable than the last, he could only stand there with his mouth gaping like a goldfish, paralyzed and unable to utter a word. What a bunch of idiots.
Isak broke a twig off a bush and whipped it around, heard it wheeze through the air.
”Can’t I just stay here with you forever?”
He roared in anger and kicked gravel so it flew in every direction, hit a car. He was breathing quickly; gaze flickering and he didn’t know where to focus. A bike in the ditch. He stomped over the spokes with his full weight and felt them bend under the sole of his shoe. It was small, probably a kid’s bike.
”Can I?”
Isak threw away the twig and stuffed his hands as far down in his pockets as he possibly could, fists clenched so hard his nails cut painfully into the palms of his hands. It hurt, and that felt good. He squeezed them harder together.
”I’ve told Sonja about you.”
Had to bite his lips not to scream.
”I’m not sad..!”
Ground his lips together and felt a sting behind his eyes. No fucking way he was going to start crying now like a little cunt.
”No?”
The tingling extended out to the tips of his fingers, his eyes burned and he felt that there, he bit his lip. Taste of metal in his mouth.
”No..!”
Breathing through his nose, faster and faster, and his whole body was trembling. The taste of sweet and sour Red Bull mixed with sharp liquor rested on the back of his tongue, impossible to ignore, and the nausea was suddenly there, but it originated from somewhere else. Deep down in his stomach. Rolled upwards and got stuck at the top of his throat, grew there like a tumor.
He had to breathe if he wasn’t going to pass out.
Isak opened his mouth to take a deep breath, but instead he heard himself scream, and he kicked a bush so the leaves went flying, and as if someone had shot him, all the power that carried him disappeared. As if his muscles had melted away in a second. Knees hit cold asphalt with a flat thump, and then it was impossible to keep it inside any longer.
He let out a loud sob, tried to breathe, tried not to throw up, head spinning and he felt a cold sweat break out, slithering down his neck. Bit his lips and looked up, tried to force his crying back, down, away. Only Oslo night, street lamps and 7 degrees celsius around him, and he couldn’t control all the evilness that crawled up through his body, in his lungs, in his throat, in his blood, which wanted to distort and burst out of him. Another sob, wet at the edges and rasping in his throat, and he felt hot tears make trails down his cheeks. He wailed and sank to the ground, as if a spear pierced his back and he was in a bullring, bleeding out. Nobody was around, but it felt like it was a packed arena – the whole world could see him. The asphalt was chilly and wet, and the cold crept into his clothes, into his body and into his bones.
What a loser you are.
It was his own voice. His own thoughts. And still he couldn’t force them away.
Your friends think you’re lame, and now they have inside jokes about you. Which means they’re talking about you – dissing you when you’re not there. They still invite you because they don’t want any confrontation, it can’t be awkward, but you’ve managed to make it that way yourself. They’re pulling away. And with good reason. You’ve kept them at arm’s length for over a month. Almost unable to look Jonas in the eyes anymore – he knows you’re lying. And you know that he knows.
He felt he had to get up, stand, get away before somebody saw him, but his body wouldn’t move an inch.
Eskild tried to reach out to you, but you turned him away and took a shit on what he stands up for and identify himself with. On him as a person. Eskild is being himself. You’re a fucking faker.
He could faintly hear tyres on the road, far up ahead, maybe a few hundred meters away.
You flee from your mother, who’s left in that big house all by herself. Dad’s too much of a coward, and even though Mom’s in a very dark place with you right now you’re the only one she’s got. She has taken care of you your whole life; you didn’t have more than a couple of months for her. It’s not only Dad who’s a coward. What a loser you are. What a loser you are.
Now he could see the light from the car glide over the ground beside him, and if he didn’t move somebody would probably see him and start asking questions. He forced himself up on all fours and saw the world around him tilt and spin. Closed his eyes immediately, and saw something worse.
Sonja’s mouth covering Even’s. Even not pulling away.
Isak started gagging and coughed up spit. It landed somewhat over his hands and he just couldn’t fucking stop crying.
What a loser you are, thinking you could be with him. What a loser you are for not seeing he was just playing you.
Isak, what a fucking loser you are for falling in love.
He punched the ground so it sent a shock up throughout his arm. Got up right as he saw a taxi disappear behind a van parked on the side of the road.
”Stop crying,” he whispered to himself.
Come on, come on, come on.
”Stop crying!” he hissed and hit himself in the face with an open hand, as hard as he could.
It was as if he’d jumped into ice water. It burned and for a couple of seconds he couldn’t feel anything else than an intense, pulsating sting in his cheek. Blood pumping quickly in his veins, tears gone, and left was anger. Aggression. Hatred.
Easier to nourish those feelings, than to show how weak he was. ’Cause fucking hell, he was weak.
The taxi rolled up in front of the van slowly, the top light was on and as Isak had guessed, it stopped. The window rolled down.
”Everything okay here?”
An older gentleman. Gray moustache. From the north.
”I wanna go home,” was all Isak offered in return before he tore the door open and flung himself into the backseat.
Had to get away from here as soon as possible.
He manages to drag himself up the stairs to the second floor, through the door, and finally feels the lock click behind him.
”Helloo, Isaak!”
Noora’s voice, from the living room.
”Come join us and watch Moulin Rouuuge!” she sings in a mock-opera style, and Eskild walks quickly towards him in the hallway, two empty tea mugs in his hands, but doesn’t even look at Isak.
”But that one’s probably too gay gay for you, Isak,” Eskild bites out sarcastically and steps past him towards the kitchen. The atmosphere hadn’t exactly been the best since their conversation yesterday afternoon. They tried keeping it from Noora, but she was a smart girl. Probably understood well and enough.
”I’m guessing The Hangover and other-,” Eskild continues but interrupts himself with a gasp when he finally looks at Isak.
”Oh my God,” he nearly drops the mugs onto the shoe shelf and storms over to Isak, grips his shoulders.
”Isak. Hello! What’s happening?” Isak hears worry in his voice, and he feels himself being shaken lightly. ”You’re absolutely freezing!” Eskild exclaims, but gets no answer.
Isak Valtersen stands on the doormat in the flat, eyes apathic and bloodshot, an aggressive red handprint on his right cheek, and his shoulders are hanging as if his arms were paralyzed. Sad eyes meet Eskild’s and the tears starts to flow again. Eskild stares back in horror.
”Noora!!”
She comes running and seems confused when she sees Isak.
”Isak, what the hell-”
Before she can finish he opens his mouth, but there’s a scratch-scratch-scratch in the record and nothing makes sense. Eskild shakes his head carefully and looks sad as well.
”I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
Isak takes a deep breath and the words fall from his mouth, mixed with sobs, quick breaths, coughs, and tears that flow and flow and flow.
”He…not…with me.” Three quick breaths, and Isak grips Eskild’s arm, holds on and stares at the floor. ”-thought that we maybe-” Another three breaths. ”..but…means nothing!” Isak tries to breathe deeply and sobs. ”And now everyone knows that I’m…” His breaths quicken and he grips Eskild’s arm so tightly it starts to hurt. ”That I’m…” his breath turns into short, stuttering gasps and he starts hyperventilating before he breaks down completely and wails.
His legs give out and he collapses. Noora and Eskild try to keep him on his feet, but he’s heavier than he looks so they sit down with him, and exchange a worried look when a broken howl falls from Isak’s lips. Like a wounded dog in pain.
They sit there for quite a while. They let Isak cry until there are no more tears, ’cause there’s not much more to do right now. They sit with him and stroke his arms until the final sob dies his mouth.
”What a loser I am,” he says quietly after a couple of minutes.
”Hey, don’t say that,” Noora sighs and gives him a light kiss on the cheek. ”No good thinkin’ that way, Valtersen.”
Isak sits motionless and stares right in front of him, right at the wall and still at nothing in particular.
”But it’s true,” he sighs and closes his eyes, sensing the danger of another few tears making their way to his eyes. ” ’Cause I think I’m so in love with him I’m even unable to think anything bad about him. Though I should probably just destroy his face.”
”No, Isak. Listen up,” Eskild says and rests his head against Isak’s. ”Never hate. Never violence.”
There’s a few seconds of silence before Isak breaks it with humorless laughter and a sad smile, one last tear trailing down his cheek.
”Wouldn’t have managed to anyway…”
That night they decide to bring their matresses into the living room, and they sleep there, all three of them. Eskild and Noora try all tricks in the book to put a smile back on Isak’s face. They don’t fully succeed, but no-one can question their efforts. His matress is in the middle, and the other two have already fallen asleep when he closes his eyes. He’s a little swollen around the eyes, and his cheek is still tender and tomorrow will suck just as hard as today and he doesn’t know what to do about anything. Even not wanting him after all hurts in a completely new way, and Isak has never felt this way before. He has never felt so much before in his life, before he met Even. It’s gonna be hard to accept, and it’s gonna take time to forget.
But to his right lies Eskild Tryggvason, mumbling unintelligible words, and to his left lies Noora Amalie Sætre, snoring like a drunk sailor. He’s not all alone.
So it’s probably gonna be alright in the end.
-fin-