The Bottom Club

10 | erstwhile

USUALLY HE WAS okay with humoring his best friend’s tendency to over-exaggerate the talent quotient of his favorite musicians (who changed on a weekly basis), but as Tobi gushed on about some new up-and-comer Spotify had recommended to him, Wyatt couldn’t muster the energy to pretend like he cared.

“They are the next big thing I’m telling you,” Tobi surmised, by all indications oblivious to the fact that he hadn’t been listening.

When his statement received no reply he managed to look up from his phone for long enough to tap Wyatt, who remained unresponsive, sulking.

They were seated outside and it was Friday; the mere fact which, on a normal day would’ve been enough to cheer him up for long enough to forget that he had real life teenage problems. Fridays to him symbolized choice: a gateway to two carefree days of partying, hooking up with cute boys, or just staying indoors in an oversized sweater, curled up with a cup of tea as he watched reruns of Desperate Housewives.

Even hours of listlessly scrolling through Instagram or going to stir up trouble on stan Twitter would’ve sounded like heaven if Rashad’s last text hadn’t sucked from him his capacity for excitement.

Please don’t text me anymore.

In a span of hours those words had taken on the form of some faceless, six two-ish person, and in his head they rang with the clarity of church bells, repeated on and on until they dissolved into one long and indiscernible chant. He hadn’t slept a wink the entire night, kept up in his consideration of not just the words themselves but their subtexts and ramifications.

Don’t text me anymore Carter. Seriously, don’t.

Okay, no, I don’t want us to talk because you’re clingy. Cute, but psycho… but still cute though.

I don’t want be with you. To you love is not just love, it is a religion. Nobody’s going to want to hook up with you, you know.

After smashing his phone to pieces his dad had walked up to his bedroom, heavy footsteps stopping only when they got to his door, and then tentatively asked if he was okay; a question he hadn’t answered.

Sprawled out on his bed, Wyatt’s stomach began to growl, and after considering the pros (eating) and cons (ruining his last word status) of leaving his room he decided to remain locked in, which was in itself problematic as he was left with nothing but his damaged phone and nonexistent dignity for company. He went to sleep in a bad mood and woke up feeling even worse.

On one hand he understood the rationale behind Rashad’s reasons. Hell, he would’ve broken up with himself if he could. His sheer disregard of logic and basic self-respect every time he found himself in a relationship was not a habit that was lost on Wyatt.

He was aware it when he got into fights with Tobi over whoever he was with. He knew it when he sent texts that read hey, i miss u or nudes to catch the attention of the other person each time he felt that they were growing distant.

There was something deeply flawed in him, he knew, for feeling that left alone or abandoned he would waste away to nothing, his identity sloughing off like dead skin. To see himself he’d need to look in through lenses of how others viewed him.

Wyatt knew these things but had never raised a finger to change any of it, and he wasn’t about to either, so he occupied himself by mulling over the way things had ended with Rashad. How jagged and complicated the closure he had asked for felt.

“Tobi,” he asked all of a sudden, surprising even himself. “Tell me what you think about Canyon?”

His best friends brow furrowed in confusion, before immediately smoothening out.