Page 62 of Roleplay at Randy's
“And? It’s not like you were participating in the conversation. Hello, airhead; I thought you might enjoy spending time with your only sister.”
“I am when I know what the heck you’re saying. I’m not trying to be a downer. I’m just tired.”
She huffs but her eyes soften. “Sorry. I figured since you and Matty lived together that …”
I shake my head. “This is the most I’ve seen him sign since we met.”
Surprise passes over her, and out of the corner of my eye I see Matty’s hands move. The gross feeling in my stomach is spilling over, and I put a hand over my eyes to try and fightback the pulse of irritation threatening to pound into my skull.
Stop getting frustrated. Take a break. Give yourself a moment.
Fingers lightly graze my shoulder, and every bit of acquired calm crumples into a heap. “Stop!” I put a hand up and stare down at the table.
It recedes ever so slightly when Matty places his hand over mine.
I hate feeling like a failure; Even more, I hate when other people have to witness it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he signs, but that only makes it worse. I don’t want him to be sorry. I don’t want him to ever have to apologize for any part of himself. Not to me.
I want to sign back that it’s fine, that he didn’t do anything wrong, and show him that I’m not entirely useless here, but I can’t freakingremembersomething as simple as that.
My face burns with embarrassment, and I slip my hand out of his to tuck in a little more to myself. Cal is happily watching a video and munching on a plate of fries, and that at least makes me smile, even if it’s strained.
“You two talk,” I mumble, scrubbing a hand over my eyes. “I can’t keep up anyway.”
I know the words are barely audible;I fucking know, but when Matty taps my shoulder—likely to check on me again because he couldn’t understand me because I’m moping like a goddamn baby—the steam rising from my corked emotions finds its escape.
“Please just don’t fucking talk to me until we’re using words I understand again!”
Don’t yell at him,I want to tell myself when he adopts a shell shocked expression, but then it hardens and I just wantto retreat as far away as possible. Which right now isn’t far enough.
‘Elias’, he spells my name. Clenches his fist. Scoots so close our thighs touch. ‘Elias.’ Each letter punctuated sharply right in front of my face.
My jaw ticks, and I refuse to look at him. This isn’t his fault.
I’m okay. I just don’t understand what you two are talking about, and it makes me feel bad.
Why can’t I just say that? Why can’t I just throw out the words that I want Matty to be able to let go like this with me?
‘Look at me.’ I can tell he’s reaching the same frustration point I’m at, and for the briefest of seconds, I want the two of us to crash through it together.
Brief but not brief enough. I raise my hand and sign ‘no’ once, and then fold my arms on the table to bury my face in them.
Just let me pout and get this bullshit out of my system.
There’s a hard shove to my shoulder, and I burrow in deeper.
“Elias.” It’s Miya who hisses at me, and when I shoot up to glare at her, Matty thumps his hand on the table.
I look at him, and my heart lodges straight into my throat. Hurt and fury fill the space of his usual patient kindness, and he makes one harsh, solid movement with his hands.
“I don’t know what that means,” I croak out, shame finally encasing me in its chokehold.
Matty blinks furiously against the tears slipping down his cheeks, and his voice is raw and pained when he spits out the words, “It means you’re an asshole.”
And then he’s stalking out the front doors of the diner,and yeah, I feel like an ass. The guilt is nearly suffocating when Miya leans over the table and thwacks me on the back of the head. Really freaking hard.
“What is the matter with you?” she grits out. “He was so freaking worried he was making you uncomfortable, and you had to go and act like that!”
