It had to be past noon, because the light coming from a nearby window was orange-ish. I looked around for many moments, trying to digest what had recently occurred. I remember being outside. I remember getting punched and basically knocked across the galaxy, based off the severe pain in my side. I am going through withdrawal. I am sober, but I am going through withdrawal.
I sat up and rubbed my head. Something wasn't right. What was it? Oh.
My hair was cut?
Okay, so let me get this straight. I remember being beat up by some classy jerk-head, thrown ten feet, I passed out, I woke up here and my hair was cut? This made no sense whatsoever.
After letting my brain wake up a bit, I was able to push my somewhat heavier body out of the love seat. As I got up, something interesting occurred to me: I was in a... palace? No, not a palace, this room is too small. Something like a palace, where the rooms are almost always the same color: white walls, dark colored drapes, a simple coffee table, and a light colored couch with light colored fabric and usually some kind of floral pattern.
Calm your brain, Joseph. It'll only make the withdrawal worse.
Just then, I heard the door on the far east corner of the room open.
"Well, good morning."
It was him.
Okay, hit me if I'm wrong, but what kind of flipping terms are me and this guy on?! We get into a fight, he takes me home, cuts my hair, then just says ,"good morning"?! What is this madness?
"Uh, good morning."
"I assume you have a headache, so I made you some mint tea to help you with the withdrawal. There's a change of clothes for you in the bathroom. What would you like for breakfast?"
Ooookay, what in the name of all that actually makes sense is going on? The same man that beat me up was standing right in front of me, smiling, offering me mint tea, new clothes and breakfast. I know I was a bit hungover, but my head was spinning more than it should have.
"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.
"I said that I have some mint tea for you're head ache, there's clothes set out for you in the bathroom -first door on the right in the hall- and I asked what you would like for breakfast. Are you well?"
"Uh, okay. Umm, thank you?I-I'm sorry, I'm just having some trouble processing all this. Yesterday you went all Hulk on me and now you're offering me breakfast?"
"Well, yes. I wouldn't be a very good host if I didn't do such things. Yes, last night was...well awkward- if you will- but I say we can get past that. You caught me on a rough night, so naturally I was a bit rude, and for that I apologize."
I gave myself a minute to calm down a bit and process all of this. I may have been a drug addict with a bit of an anger problem, but I was still somewhat sensible. He apologized, so I guess I could forgive him, right? Live and let live? I honestly don't even know if that rule even applies here, but whatever.
"Okay, thank you. Um, I guess I'll go get dressed. Tea would be great, but I can get my own breakfast when I leave, but thank you for the offer." I said, trying to make even a little sense, which was actually pretty hard.
"Leave? Oh, no no. You're not leaving. Where would you go? Back to my spot? I'm sorry, but I can't just let that happen."
"Where would I go?"
"Here."
"Here?" I asked, a little shocked. Was this guy really telling me to stay here?
"Here. I have a spare room, well actually three. You're welcome to stay here as long as you'd like."
"Are you seriously saying I can stay here?"
"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
"Does anyone else live here? Maybe a wife or another roommate?"
"Nope. Just me."
"Well, that escalated quickly."
"How so?"
"Are you really asking that question?"
He chuckled. He honestly thought that this was a normal thing to do. I couldn't help laughing a bit myself.
" Well, I suppose it might be a bit odd at first, but I think we could work it out. I have gotten quite lonely living on my own in such a large, yes somewhat plain home. After all, I do kind of owe you."
"Well then, yes."
"Yes?"
"I'll stay. For how long, I don't know, but I'll stay."
Then it occurred to me- I didn't even know this guy's name!
"So I suppose if you are to live in my home, I guess I should know your name." He said, with a flat tone.
"I'm Joseph, pleasure to meet you..."I introduced myself, reaching out my hand.
"James. My name is James. Excellent, we are now officially acquaintances, and roommates. By an unconventional accord, but still an accord. That is fine however. Go get dressed and I shall make you pomegranate pancakes. Judging by the lack of color in your face, you haven't eaten properly in weeeelllll... I'd day at least three....years." James said.
"How do you do that?" I asked.
"Simple laws of deduction. It's rather elementary my dear Watson."
"Who's Watson?"
"A friend of mine."
"So you're telling me you actually have friends?"
"I don't."
"So who's Watson?"
"An old friend of Sherlock's."
"Sherlock? As in, Sherlock Holmes?"
"Yes."
"So what you're saying is you're friends with Sherlock?" I asked, obviously a little confused.
"No. Why would I be friends with a man who has never actually existed? What nonsense! Where would you get such an idea?" He said, genuinely appalled.
Okay, I'm beginning to think this guy is mad. Not the emotion mad, but the state of being mad.
James started pacing back and forth as if nervous.
"Ever heard of imaginary friends?" I said, trying to lighten the mood a bit. I honestly thought that he might have gone crazy on me, so I had to try to cheer him up a bit.
Suddenly, James looked at me. That same look in his eyes I had seen the previous night right before he punched me was in his eyes right now. It was weird that a compassionate, caring, and somewhat calm expression basically meant certain death for me. Why was he like this?
He began to slowly walk towards me.
"Are you judging those that have supposititious companions? What exactly do you think of those people? I'll tell you something, those people are the foundation of everything you see. People create an ideal image of what they want a companion to be because of the lack of rudimentary social and basic comprehensive skills, and it is absolutely appalling! Can you blame them!? Of course not, they are entirely blameless. And yet they are always oppressed. They are pushed around because they refuse to conform to the averages' useless pattern of communications. They are the ones that are truly aware of how reality is just a useless composition of women covered i
n make up, men working at the gym while wearing condescendingly tight shirts, teenagers going out in the early hours to do God knows what, and the other scum doing whatever they want whenever they want because their stupid parents raised them that way! Sherlock Holmes was my 'imaginary friend'. My parents tried to give me what every other little child wanted to have, but I chose not to become like all the other scums of the earth. I chose to be this way! Just because I am different does not mean I am crazy! I am mad! Madly mad! Sanity is profane, and reality is sane. This earth is filled with people like you who never give the odd-ball a chance! You are not welcome here anymore! Get out!"
Well, he didn't have to tell me twice. He was right, though. He was mad.
><><><><><><><><><><
Next thing I knew, I was on the road again. Apparently Jame's home wasn't more than four blocks from where his 'thinking spot' was. It was getting dark fast. The warm August air was shifting into the early cold stages of the night. I could smell the rain that was bound to arrive within the next thirty minutes. So many people were walking, talking, eating, playing as if everything in the universe was perfect.
Nothing about this universe is perfect. Only fools believe that.
I kept walking. My head was hurting, my side was aching, my knee was hurting because of the sprain, and any sign of a silver lining was nowhere near me. You see, there's something about being on my own that gave me a new kind of sadness. I missed being at home with my family. No, I do not mean that I missed my family, just the privilege of even having one. I didn't have one anymore. I missed the privilege of having a home. It wasn't the shelter that I missed, it was the smell.
The smell.
Every home has a smell. Every person has a smell. Most people can't smell their own smell or the smell of their home, but I could. It wasn't the smell of an actual thing, like food or perfumes. It was a warm smell. The kind of warm smell you smelled when you were outside with your friends late at night. The smell where you tried to fight falling aslo because you didn't want to miss a single moment of whatever it was you were enjoying because you were just so happy. The smell where you feel like you've just completed a large task and now you can do what you will. That was the smell I missed. That was the reason I was sad. I had lost the very sense of having a home, a family, a hope. I was officially an orphan. But something was odd about having this feeling.
I wanted to embrace it. No one owned me anymore. I was the only one who owned me.
