Finding Color

"You're quiet." I turn my head from the window to look at Kit. These are the first words that have been spoken since I entered the car. I don't mind. My thoughts were loud enough to break any illusion of silence between my usually chatty best friend and I. Throughout being stuck in lunch hour traffic, my thoughts had lingered on Gerard and the offers of conversation and coffee that now stand in my pocket in the form of his phone number. Unusually enough, I hadn't thought to discuss it with her. What will she say if I bring up that I've met someone? Normally, she would be excited for me, but with recent events hanging over her head, I'm not so sure. Nothing seems to be normal at the moment. But who else will I tell? I don't want to make this decision alone. Gerard is charming, but I've only just met him. I don't know anything about him. He could be anybody, in any sense of the word. There's no way around it. I need to tell her. I stare out the window again.

"So are you." I retaliate, "That's more unusual."

She laughs, "I guess so." The conversation mulls into silence again, and I feel uncomfortable. Upon the realization of my discomfort, I'm put even more on the edge. Having known Kit since we shared a room in our freshman year of college, things are rarely awkward between us. We always find a way to make conversation out of nothing, and even when silence strikes, it's comfortable coexistence. Right now, the tension is so tangible that I feel sick. It feels like we're fighting with each other, but with both of us against me. I glance over at Kit. Her mouth has been trapped in a thin line over the past few days, and her usual perfect, ballet-dancer's posture is marred by tense, raised shoulders and a sagging ribcage. Noticing the dark circles under her eyes brings on another sickening wave of guilt, a familiar occurrence for me over the past week and a half or so. It's going to be difficult living with Kit while this blows over.

"Are you mad at me?"

The question is almost whispered, and I'm surprised that she hears me over the hustle and bustle of New York City that seems penetrate through every barrier imaginable. Her gaze, usually scrunched up in a mixture of concentration and frustration at her own poor driving, softens. After drawing a shaky breath, and gripping the steering wheel hard, she answers, "I don't know." She slams on the brakes as the cab in front of her comes to an abrupt stop, letting out an exasperated breath of air that sounds vaguely like a profanity. "I want to be mad at you and think that it's completely your fault. I mean, in a way it is, but it's not. I just didn't see it coming, and I guess I'm mad at myself for that." I start to protest, but she cuts me off again with, "I don't know what it is you're feeling, and that's what's most upsetting. You didn't talk to me. And you should have. I could have done something, and that's your fault for not telling me, but maybe it's my fault that you didn't." I couldn't deny some truth in her words. I could have told her. Physically, I could have, but I was too afraid. And even if I had been able to tell her, where would that have gotten me? In the same situation I am now, only with Kit joking and chatting with me on the way home? I have to admit, the scenario seems slightly better, and I should have told her. I would rather have Kit on my side than angry at me for being secretive. At the time, I hadn't thought that it would matter. I, of course, was never planning to survive. I must have been lost in my thoughts for awhile, because she asks, "How was the meeting?"

How was the meeting? I realize, I'm not really sure. I didn't pay attention. I say the closest thing I've got. "I met a guy." The words slip out of my mouth. I'm not sure why I said it the way I did, as if I'm intending for him to be something other than just some guy I met in a support group I didn't want to go to. And now, Kit's going to reprimand me for it.

"A guy?" Almost on queue, Kit's eyebrows raise in alarm. "Since when do you like guys?"

"I've always liked guys," I reply, chewing on my fingernails, "Well--and girls, but I like guys too."

"I know that." Kit cast a frustrated glance at me, and I felt relief, strangely, at its familiarity. "I mean, you don't like people. In that way. I mean, you do--but I've hardly heard you talk about it."

"I dated Jenna Greene in college." I chime in, triumphant. "I've had lots of relationships."

I can practically hear Kit rolling her eyes at the cab in front of her as she counters me. "You had a fling with Jenna Greene for two months and then broke up before graduation, and you meet casually with people to keep up with your libido, but that's pretty much it."

"Don't say it like its a bad thing."

"I'll respect it, but I don't have to agree with it." I smile warmly at my best friend. The old Kit is back, and I couldn't be happier about it, after uncomfortable silence for days.

I sigh in indifferent defeat at her point, before bursting out, "I have a boyfriend back in Rhode Island that I never told you about."

"No you don't."

"And he's really hot." I make sure she's looking when I waggle my eyebrows at her.

"Lilah."

"And he's got abs."

"Everyone has abs."

"He has visible abs. And it's awesome."

She laughs, shaking her head. "You're absolutely full of shit."

"Obviously." I laugh with her, and even though the rest of the ride home is silent, I'm smiling the whole way home.

After all, it's a comfortable silence.
_____________________________________________________________________________

Unfortunately enough for me, there aren't as many jobs for music majors as I'd initially thought in the city. Under pressure from crushing student loan debts and other expenses, I was forced to accept a rather unfulfilling career filing paperwork at a real estate agency. Unfulfilling, but it puts food on the table until I can find another job in my field. Hell, it pays for the table itself. I'm lucky enough to even have a job in an economy like this one, but the tiredness of getting off from unenjoyable work never gets easier. Even though I've been let off work for two weeks' recovery time, I feel the dull tiredness of an unsatisfactory day. When's the last time I had any fun?


I'm sitting at the kitchen island that doubles as our table back at the apartment, my coat draped and forgotten over the back of my chair after a long day at work, and my shoes and socks carelessly discarded at the door. In front of me, is my phone, a half-eaten bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios, and Gerard's card. Strangely enough, the Cheerios don't have my full attention at the moment.

It's been two days since I first met Gerard at the support group, and he's been dominating an unsettlingly significant portion of my thoughts. I haven't called him yet, despite Kit's urgent questioning (mostly about his physical appearance). I'm not sure if I plan to.

"So he's an artist, then?" Kit's voice comes from behind me as she reads over my shoulder. I hadn't heard her come in, but that's hardly a rare occurrence, as she tends to walk on her toes.

"Mr. Gerard Way, the artist. You going to call him?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't even know him. He just told me to call him if I wanted to grab coffee." I paused to take a bite of Cheerios, while Kit retrieved a spoon from the silverware drawer. As she dipped her spoon into my bowl, I swallowed. I pick up my phone and, exasperated, put it down again. "Should I?"

She swallows her bite of cereal, dipping her spoon back in. "I don't think a relationship would be good for you right now, but you should try to socialize more in general."

I scoff at her, "Why? I talk to you all the time."

Rolling her eyes, she counters, "We live together. It's different. You never willingly make plans with anyone."

As I move to take my spoon to the sink, Kit sits in my now empty chair, pulling the cereal closer to her. I smile inwardly at her monstrous appetite. Then, I sigh frustratedly as I wash the spoon. "I do make plans. I just never want to go. I go because I know I should want to go, and I would probably like to go if I didn't want to not go. It's just kind of hard to have fun having fun when I don't want to have fun."

Confused silence follows my words, and I can't blame Kit. I don't get it either. "Well you're thinking about hanging out with someone else right now. That sounds like progress to me." I shrug, so she continues, "Just go for coffee like he asked. What's the worst that could happen?"

I bite my lip and shut off the water. I don't want to spend time getting to know Gerard. I don't even like spending time around most people I do know and consider friends, but she's right. It's been a long time since I've even considered being around anyone other than Kit, much preferring to stay in and sleep. Despite this, I crave human contact. It's a difficult cycle of loneliness that I'm stuck in, but maybe it's one I could begin to break with Gerard. I return to the table and enter his number for a new text message. Kit smiles, reading over my shoulder.


'Hi, Gerard. This is Lilah, not sure if you remember me. You invited me to coffee.'


The message sends. Within a few minutes, my phone buzzes with his incoming message. Kit moves her head above my left shoulder, squinting at the text. 'Obviously I remember you.' With Kit's hair tickling my face, I suddenly become aware of the growing redness in my cheeks. My fingers hover over the touch screen, just about to tap another message, when Gerard texts me again. 'We going for coffee, then?'

'Absolutely.'

Notes

Doesn't take much more than a couple of texts to start a friendship.

I'm back! Honest to God, I've been trying to write as often as possible, but with mid-terms next week, it's been pretty crazy. I'm probably going to say this with every chapter I post, but I'm really going to start updating this more frequently. I may or may not start a few other stories as well. I've been playing around with the idea of a Killjoy story, but who knows?

As always, comments really motivate me to write, which is a big deal, since I hardly get motivated these days. So tell me what you all think!

My condolences to anyone affected by what's going on in France or Nigeria right now. Hang in there!

--Sparrow Delanuit