Narrative - Zephyr Way WHO Zephyr Way (Town Mouse) WHAT Narrative - Unpleasant(?) realisations WHEN Backdated: Saturday, Dec 15 WHERE Zeph's place NOTES Three days after this which Tali and I just finished. Hence the lateness of this narrative. :P
”I want to hate you half as much as I hate myself But you know that I could crush you with my voice Stood on my roof and tried to see you forgetting about me Hide the details, I don’t want to know a thing...”
For some reason, when he was in a worse mood, Zephyr Way would listen to Fall Out Boy. He liked the band, but for some reason they were even better when he felt down in the gutter. And not only did he listen, but he sang along too. As loud as he was comfortable with, right now. Which meant he was more or less belting ‘The Pros And Cons Of Breathing’ out to an empty house.
Not that it was uncommon for it to be empty. It was just that for the last three days it had been moreso than usual. The usual run of things was people calling, people popping by at random. For three days, nothing of the kind had happened. It had been as close to dead as could be. Not that Zeph would’ve welcomed anyone. But it didn’t stop him from feeling lonely like he did now.
Passing the stereo, he turned the music off mid-sentence and made for the piano. Sitting down, he once again played ‘Intermission’, for what might’ve been the eighth time in those three days. He couldn’t help it was one of their own. Half-way through it, something in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and as he looked out over the room, he realised it was the flash of white under the sofa. The sunlight had found its way in under the furniture and was reflecting in the whiteness of a paper. A page in Zeke’s notebook.
Ceasing to play, Zephyr bit his lip, hesitating before getting to his feet and walking over to kneel down at the sofa. Reaching in under it, he found the open notebook, pulling it out and dusting it off. He automatically closed it, knowing Zeke wasn’t keen on sharing all his material. Then he recalled what had been said three days earlier, as the book was chucked on him. Read it, Zeke had spat at him. Because none of it means shit anymore.
Very hesitantly, he opened the notebook. Hesitant because he still remembered what had been said, and the single page that had been ripped out and handed to him. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to explore beyond that.
There was no doubt Zeke could write. Even if it was rough, it was still good. But the impressed feelings kept getting overshadowed by what a lot of the texts and run-on sentences seemed to handle. What some were obviously handling. In a way, Zeph had probably known. And... well, right now he couldn’t tell if he returned any of it.
Of course... The possibility of getting drunk on the other, as cliché as that sounded. The obsession. Because there was something inexplicably special about Zeke, something Zephyr never had been able to pinpoint. Something that made Ezekiel Rhodes stand out from the rest of the boys and girls surrounding Zeph.
Then how come he could never show him that? How come Zeph kept treating him like he did?
“I hate the way you say my name like it’s something secret...” he sang quietly. Turning a page and reading on, he found himself singing a different song.
“I only think in the form of crunching numbers In hotel rooms, collecting page-six lovers Get me out of my mind Get you out of those clothes I'm a line away From getting you into the mood...”
He paused. Sang again, barely audible now. “And I want these words to make things right But it's the wrongs that make the words come to life...” Another slight pause. “Thanks for the memories...”
He got to his feet, reaching for the phone and dialling Zeke’s number, furiously wiping tears from his cheeks as he curled up on the sofa, the phone pressed to his ear.