Dog eared
He sits on a beanbag at a party full of people from a university he had never attended. Dragged to the event by Melanie in her endearing way of being aggressively caring. He had only acquiesced knowing she had been the only one, of an already small group of friends, to keep in touch with him when he had been institutionalized. She meant well, and that almost made the stress of the party feel worth going. Because she was trying to help.
He sipped his thermos of tea idly, faking a slight wincing face as he drank to make it seem like he had just brought a flask of something strong. People judged his eccentricities less when they thought he was as drunk as they were. That was a small mercy of parties. Being able to unmask more.
The room was getting too warm and crowded, even on the outskirts as he was. Instinctively, he stumbled in a daze of dissassociation to find somewhere he could breathe. A small bedroom with a few people smoking, not paying him much mind, and a dog curled up on the bed. His heart sang. Pets were a saving grace at parties.
He cooed at the dog and settled next to it, giving it belly rubs and scritching its ears. As his focus waned, a memory surfaced and the phrase rang in his ears:
"You said the feeling of not belonging anywhere was overwhelming"
It was still true, but he was stubborn, and had set his mind to faking being fine. It was better than enduring the stark white walls and questions and… No. Stop that. He almost reflexively hit his head to knock out the thoughts, but remembered where he was.
"And that you were the most useless person who ever lived"
Fuck. Maybe he would have more than tea tonight. The person next to him motioned to pass the joint, an offer to enter their land of fuzzy thoughts and easy laughs. But being stoned for him quickly soured to paranoia. One hit should be fine though, if nothing else than to feel some camaraderie.
It was just enough to get him in a contemplative space. He took out his small notebook and began writing a new poem. About smoke and fog and distance and seeing without interacting.
Melanie walked in and smiled softly at him, saying something about of course he had found a quiet room with the dog to write, he was so predictable. All fondness and no bite to her light ribbing. She didn't push to coax him out of the room, instead sitting with him and knocking shoulders with him. Silence sat like a weighted blanket, and Martin spoke first, surprised at his own vulnerability as words spilled out,
"Really. Thank you for inviting me to this. I really needed a distraction. I was at my mom's a day ago and I just, she was grilling me about the interview next week and I just.. fled." he had really meant to sound positive, but it had ended with his melancholy ruining things as usual.
"Martin Blackwood saying he's glad to be at a houseparty? Gods, I thought I'd never see the day." she quickly shifts to sincerity after trying to lighten the mood, "Seriously though. I know this isn't your usual scene, but I'm glad it helped. I know you'll get the job, trust me." her gaze allows no arguments, so he sighs and tries a small smile.
He woke up far too early and had stayed up far too late, both due to anxiety. He couldn't afford to be late, so instead he had gotten ready hours before he needed to leave, and so found himself with too much time to spare.
Maybe he could go to the cafe near the office and write while he waited. Calming atmosphere and a hobby he loves, his therapist would be proud of him trying to do self care and all that.
He checks that he has everything in his bag five times, then he swiftly leaves the (thankfully) quiet house before she wakes up.
The autumn air is cold like fresh mint and morning dew, and he feels a little more real. He consciously untenses his muscles one by one as he walks, counting his breaths until his chest isn't a balloon ready to pop. The binder probably doesn't help the back pain, but oh well.
There aren't many people in the cafe. It's a hole in the wall, and it's the time of day that most people get coffee, not tea. This place serves it, sure, but their specialty is their quality and variety of teas. He decides on a warm spiced chai latte with oat milk, perfect for the brisk weather. New words fail his tired mind, so he tweaks with the poem he had written at the party.
Time goes by too fast, and his alarm makes him physically jump, as he had been nodding off in his sleep deprived state. The barista and the other customer at the time share a look, but he can barely notice them as he scrambles to leave.
Walking as fast as he can without getting sweaty, he stares ahead with single minded purpose. And almost trips over a dog suddenly in his path, and he fumbles his phone. In an impossible feat of bad luck, the dog plucks it out of the air like a frisbee and darts off to his left into a small garden between buildings.
"I- No! Wait! I need that!"
He gives chase through a hedge that he belatedly realizes will leave him disheveled and covered in leaves and twigs, and barrels into something soft that emits an affronted "oof".
The dog is nowhere to be found, staring in shock at the spot where the dog was and then wasn't. Then another huff of annoyance reminds him of the person in front of him. He looks up and is immediately flustered.
They're beautiful. Long black hair in the messiest bun possible, skin dark enough to almost hide an annoyed flush to his cheeks, strong nose, and stern eyes whose gaze he felt could be just as soft as it could be sharp. Pretty short compared to Martin, but most people were. He was staring. Shit.
"Uh- I- sorry. I didn't see you there." he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish expression, "Have you seen a dog run past here?"