The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome

*Owen’s POV*

I went looking for a bag from my locker, then rounded the corner back to the main room and saw Z sitting on the crappy bench, lighting yet another cigarette. Fucking dammit, I shared this place with other five people! “Z! Go smoke outside!”

Apparently, Z was still in a dangerously bad mood. He got up and struck a very threatening pose, coming far too close, grinning like a jackal. Damned dickhead was far too accustomed to getting everything his way. “I don’t see anyone else here but you and I, Owen. It hasn’t been bothering you all fucking day. We’re already dead anyway. So why don’t you fuck off?”

Uh-oh. I felt Z cross the line when he laughed at me, blew smoke at my face, and said, “Thought so, faggot,” before turning to walk away.

When I was alive, I had a fiery temper too, at times. Not often, and not at unreasonable provocation. But I would get in fights with my romantic partners that would make the mountains tremble. Innocent bystanders would flee. I pitied anyone that was within the city block when Z and I both lost our tempers.

I grabbed the back of Z’s stupid jacket and slammed him against the wall, apparently surprising him, as his eyes shot wide open. “Don’t you fucking call me that ever again you fucking bigot! You fucking piece of shit what kind of friend are you?”

Z clearly was expecting me to punch him; when I failed to follow through, he decided that the situation then called for him to punch me. I had figured he would do that, and I was not pleased. I ducked, yelling incoherently, angry as fuck, and tackled him around the waist, to the floor. There was no fucking way I was going to avoid getting my ass kicked, but I wanted to curse Z out some more before he finished me off.

“I’ve been nice, you are a douch-“ I took some sort of blow to the stomach from some angular body part of Z’s. “You only care about your-hhrgh- self!” Then we were wrestling, and I was pleased to find neither of us was very good at it, or accomplishing much of anything, giving me greater opportunity to shout at Z angrily. Both of us huffed and growled and cursed as we struggled to get the upper hand and failed. We rolled over Z’s dropped cigarette, and Z shouted, irritated and in pain.

“Arggh! Motherfucker, I am not your friend! I am going to-“ I interrupted him.

“What? Kill me? I’m already dead! And if you’re not my friend, than what? Were you ever Gwyn’s friend? What the fuck is your deal, you fucking crazy asshole?” We had been kind of wobbling back and forth, albeit painfully, for a while. Fuck this, this was macho bullshit.

I just let go of my holds on his arm, leg, and back, then steeled myself for the inevitable, still panting. But Z seemed so surprised, he just released me and backed a few feet away, as if that wasn’t an appropriate or acceptable thing for me to have done whatsoever. “Why do you really want to go back?” I swallowed and took a big breath. “You don’t care about other people at all, do you?”

Z looked at me suspiciously from his spot sitting on the floor. He twiddled with some loose threads in his old shirt for a while as he caught his breath. Eventually he started talking with a tone that was more puzzled than anything. “I don’t get you, dude. I mean, you’re not a total pussy I guess, but you didn’t even punch me when you had me, why the fuck not?”

I was really irritated at that point. “Answer my fucking questions and maybe I’ll answer yours, asshole!”

Z frowned. “Look, I already told you, Gwyn was my friend.” He got a serious look, maybe his version of what other people might call sincerity. “There was a big… issue, involving multiple people, and the two of us were involved, maybe a year before I died. Being me, I did something stupid that really hurt her feelings.” Z was looking very intently at his boot. “Later, some of the people involved forgave me, some of them didn’t. I had Drake apologize to Gwyn for me, but I never saw her again after that, she ‘wasn’t ready.’” Z frowned. “I know she misses me, she drove to my memorial with Drake. Does that answer your question?” I shook my head.

“Not really. Do you care about Gwyn? Why are you doing this? Just be straight with me.” I searched Z’s face as he clenched his jaw. He was so hard to read!

“People have always told me that I have no capacity for empathy, that I have ‘antisocial personality disorder,’ and I fucking hate that! If that’s so, why do I care about this? Well? Yes, I care about Gwyn! Other people too, people that are none of your business! I want to go because I am bored, and I thought it was a good excuse to go fuck shit up and go try and make sure nothing bad happens to someone I care about.” Z leaned close to me. “I hurt Gwyn’s feelings. If I have no empathy, why would that bother me, years later?”

Z’s logic was a little flawed. He hurt peoples’ feelings on a virtually hourly basis. How to phrase this? “Z-“

He almost scolded me. “-No, I know what you’re going to say! And the fact is, I just don’t give a shit about everyone’s feelings, only certain people. That’s just the way it is. Gwyn earned my respect. But I fucked up and treated her disrespectfully. I want to try and, you know, do something to make up for it. Besides, I’m bored. Now- answer my question.” I rolled my eyes.

“I didn’t fucking punch you because I’m not a total fucking maniac and I just wanted to talk some sense into you. I don’t try and dominate people with my fists, dude-“

“-What the fuck?!? Dominate? You make it sound like some kind of sex thing-“ Z looked horrified, and I couldn’t help laughing.

“-Like you’re not totally whipping your dick out? Just because you can beat the shit out of me doesn’t make you the better man, dude. You agreed not to use homophobic slurs, and you broke the agreement within hours of making it, just because you weren’t getting what you wanted, like some little baby.”

Z got up, clearly struggling to keep his temper in check. “I am going outside to have a cigarette. I will be outside, when you have finished gathering your shit. Fucking outside, Owen.” With that, Z walked out the door. I went to gather my things, still unclear on whether Z and I were on friendly terms now or what.

Notes

QOTD: favorite kind of pizza?

definitely something non-standard. probably a pesto sauce base, with mushroooms, +/- garlic, definitely pine nuts, preferably spinach, obviously w/mozzarella. if i'm treating myself, maybe bits of goat cheese or ricotta. if you're going to eat a pizza, that's how you do pizza, dudes.