(13) Emotionally And Stuff

He puts his arms around my waist and glances around the escape room. “We’re in a lab of some kind.”

That’s what it looks like. There’s even a thin layer of smoke coming out from under somewhere, curling around our feet. “Bougie escape room,” I mutter. I walk around the table (with Jaron still clinging to me) and prod at some of the potions and vials. I open a crumpled, “blood stained,” notebook. “First clue,” I say. “Probably.”

The objective of this escape room is to find the three ingredients of the zombie virus cure before the hour is up.

“So who’ve you been with before?” he asks. “Bases?”

I look back at him. “What?” That was so forward. Also, what kind of person asks that while we’re supposed to be solving puzzles?

“Hey, I promised we’d get to know each other better.”

I flip through the notebook. “Kissed a girl in 9th grade. That’s it. No bases. You?” Not exactly an impressive track record, but whatever.

“I was dating a guy before moving here. Then Ansel, though we were just hooking up. Now you.”

“Hmm.” I put the notebook back down. “Too easy. The signs of these elements listed here spell Cheers. Alcohol. Medicine cabinet.” I make my way over there. Indeed, inside the first aid kit is another note.

“Career plans,” he says. “Mine is to get my DPT.”

“Huh?”

“Physcial therapy cert.”

“Oh, cool. That tracks.” I flatten the note against a table. “Business degree. Then work for my dad.”

“Wow, we’re so lame,” he mutters. “No offense.”

The note is missing several letters, so I assume we have to fill it in to get the message or whatever. I look around for a pen. “I’m very offended. Apologize. Now.”

He rolls his eyes. “Favorite childhood memory,” he says.

I glance at him. “Did you make a list?” Because of course he did. He seems like the type to our entire relationship mapped out in his head.

He smiles. “Maybe. Should I go first?”

“Cringe. And sure.” I find a pen on the counter to fill in the note.

“Fishing with my dad,” he says.

I laugh. “Respectfully, that’s the whitest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He tilts his head down, also smiling. “Your turn.”

My answer to that question is kind of depressing. I don’t know if I should be honest with him this early. We’re not even dating yet. Not officially. “Um…the day after my parents divorced…my dad and I played video games all morning. And then I went to live with my mom. Like, permanently. She got me ice cream. Best day I’d had in a long time with both of them.”

He laces his hands behind his back and leans over my shoulder. “Was the divorce hard?”

“No. Not at all. Things got so much better afterwards.” Which is true, even if it sounds weird to say.

“If you don’t mind…your grandparents?”

I shrug. “It’s not that deep. They’re really traditional. About the gender roles and stuff. They were living with us when I was a kid. Made my mom’s life hard. That’s it.” I don't mention how they made my life harder too, always commenting on how I should act more "properly." How they bemoan the fact that I can’t speak Telugu when I already feel bad enough that I’m kind of whitewashed.

He nods slowly.

“Now you,” I say. “Tell me about something sucky from your past.” I keep my eyes on the note I’ve been trying to decode, though I’m not actually paying attention to it anymore.

He thinks on it. “We moved around a lot. That was sucky.”

“Yeah I can imagine. I don’t even like moving between my mom and dad every other week.”

He smiles. He kisses the back of my neck. “Mmm.”

Chills shudder down my spine. “There’s probably cameras in here,” I mutter. And it seems he doesn’t care at all that we’d be eaten by zombies if we don’t find all three components of the cure in time.

“We’re not doing anything weird. I bet couples kiss in here all the time.”

Couple.

I ignore him and focus on the note. “The missing letters spell out the word ‘green.’ Maybe we should be looking for something green then.”

He latches onto my hoodie and follows as I begin looking through anything green. Vials, fake textbooks, and cloth. “You’re so smart,” he says.

“I have to be, since you’re so useless. Guess I should have known. Ever since the group project.”

“You’re so miserable all the time,” he tells me.

Yeah, I know. I should get extra credit for not biting him, considering how miserable I apparently am. I shove my elbow into his chest. “I can be worse.”

He pulls away so that his body isn’t pressed up irritatingly against mine as I try to move around looking for clues.

My heart jumps to my throat. Was this the breaking point? Was he finally done with me? I glance at him, but he’s just smiling. And his fists are still in my hoodie.

Be nice Indra. Why was it so hard to just be nice?

I frown and turn a plastic green beaker over in my hands. Nothing special. I put it back down. I look aorund the room. One of the ambient, creepy lights are green, so I follow where it points. Hidden under a table, just where the light fizzles out, is a keypad.

I look down at the note still in my hand. It’s a list of a three different elements on the periodic table that. I assume it probably means something too. Chlorine, oxygen, and sodium, whose atomic numbers are 17, 8, and 11, respectively. I try that on they keypad.

There is a frantic beeping sound. Then, a fake biohazard chest slowly opens as smoke spills out of it. “I’m so smart,” I tell myself. Someone should build a statue of m.e

“I already said that,” Jaron says.

“It means more coming from myself, because I’m overly critical of myself,” I say. “It’s called self-awareness.” It’s mostly a joke.

It makes him laugh, which is what I wanted. “How did you have those numbers memorized?”

“Took AP Chem. You kinda memorize the few elements that show up in every other problem.”

“Smartass.”

“Only 80% smartass,” I say. “I got a B.” I pull out the objects in the box. It’s a vial with colored liquid. I assume this is the first part of the cure. The other object is a giant skeleton key.

He laughs again. “You’re so funny Indra.”

“No, it’s just low self-esteem.” This is also mostly a joke.

And that makes him laugh again. “And cute,” he adds. “You’re really cute.”

It just made me feel worse when he complimented me because he was always so kind to me, whereas I am awful to him. And I am terrible enough of person to not be able to stop. “I don’t like it when you compliment me.”

He falters. “Oh…okay. I’ll stop.”

“Good.” I turn away. What places in here might have a lock on it? The cabinets all are unlocked. The biohazard chest is already open. I feel on the walls for some kind of secret door or something like that.

This time, Jaron doesn't follow me around. The vibe is objectively different now. Awkward.

I’ve messed up. As I thought I would, always ruining a good thing.

I turn back to Jaron who has his hands in his pockets. He smiles, but this time it’s fake, I can tell. “Um, where do you think the key goes?” I ask.

He shrugs.

Now that he wasn’t trying to touch me and breathe in my hair and whatever, I wanted all that back. Though it was irritating.

No, it wasn't irritating. I really liked it. I’m such an idiot.

Was this the breaking point? I look down at the key, twisting my fingers around it. “Uh…s-sorry.”

“Should I tone it down?” he asks. “I don’t mind. I know I’m too clingy.”

My head snaps up. He thought he was the problem? “No. What? I’m too mean. I’m the problem.” Obviously.

“I told you. I like it,” he says. “Bully kink, remember?”

I blink, still uncertain if that’s a joke or not.

“Kidding,” he murmurs. “I just like how real you are. And I know you’re never really being malicious. Just wired like a menace. So it’s okay.”

“I like it when you’re clingy,” I admit. “Since I have low self-esteem and feel like no one could love me.”

He frowns.

“Kidding,” I murmur.

“Perfect.” He closes the space between us and shoves me up against the counter. Not in a sexy way. More like he needs me to be pressed up against him because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself. “Okay so no more misunderstandings.” He nods down at the key. “Let’s find where that goes.”

———

Coming home from the Crossing, we’re giggling like babies, finding everything funny when nothing really is. We stagger back into his house, laughing loudly and sloppily kicking our shoes off.

“Next time I’ll steal your wallet,” I threaten, “So you can’t pay.”

“I’ll just hold it above your head. You’re short.”

I look around for a throw pillow (his house has many, most of which are embroidered with Bible quotes) and hit his face with it. “I am not.”

He snatches the pillow from me and holds it over me. I reach for it. He’s right, I can’t grab it back. He shoves it into my face and I fall onto the couch, laughing again, trying to get him away from me.

“Jaron?” I hear a lady say.

I freeze. So does he. He turns and drops the pillow. I sit up and try to smooth out my clothes. “Hey mom,” he says, much too casually to actually sound casual.

I try for a smile.

“It’s Indra,” Jaron over-explains. “He was at church, remember? And we had dinner at his place a few weeks ago.”

“I was sick during the dinner,” I volunteer.

She blinks and nods. “I remember.” She hesitates. “Did you boys eat?”

“Yes,” Jaron mutters. He pulls his sleeves over his hands and fidgets with them. Pulls at a loose thread.

And then Jaron’s father, the pastor turns the corner into the living room. “Ah…hello, Indra,” he says. “How are your parents?”

“Good,” I say back. Why did this feel so awkward? I mean, more awkward that it usually was meeting a friend’s (almost-boyfriend’s) parents.

I remember what he told me. He’s not on good terms with them right now. Because of the pastor school thing. Stereotypical religious kid problems, but it’s not the type of things that’s fair game for teasing, so I keep my mouth shut. We’re also right in front of said overbearing parents.

That’s probably why it was so awkward. They were trying to pretend to be functional in front of me. “Um should we go play a game?” I suggest. “You have a setup in your room?”

He looks relieved. “Yes. Right. Let’s go.” He grabs my hand, but then quickly lets go and hurries up the stairs. I follow him, squeezing between his parents in the hallway.

The weird tension only fades when we’re in his room with the door closed. “Ruined our date night,” I mutter. I look up. “I mean, uh, date was fun. How does this make you feel?”

He laughs. “I’m fine.” He knocks me over onto the mattress and kisses me all over my face, which I’ve found is something he likes to do a lot.

I look around the room while he bites at my jaw and neck. He has a bookshelf with really fat books on it. And figureines. I push him off me and go over to the little figurines. I don’t recongize any of them, but they’re clearly fantasy creatures. I tip one of the books out of the line of books and towards myself. “DnD,” I mutter, and then I grin. “You play DnD?”

His face is already flushed from kissing me, so I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed about this or not. “Yeah,” he says.

“Do you have a character?”

“A couple,” he mutters. He turns redder, which means he’s embarrassed.

I don’t know enough about this hobby to make fun of him, so I make do with what I have. “You’re a nerd,” I decide. “And here I was thinking you’re all sporty and whatever.”

“I’m both,” he says. “By the way, DnD isn’t an uncool thing anymore.”

“Sure. Where did you move from again? Did they have groups or parties or whatever it’s called down there?”

“Alabama. I played online.”

I snicker. “You’re from Alabama?”

“I was born in Maine,” he says quickly, “Lived there for a while. I am not from Alabama. I also don’t have any siblings.”

Pre-emptive damage control and I haven’t even said anything. I go back over to him and press my knee into his thigh. “Right. Well I don’t have siblings either. I guess our kids won’t have any cousins.”

He blinks.

My face grows burning hot in an instant. What is wrong with me? Why did I say that? We haven’t even officially slapped on the ‘dating’ label yet.”

The way he looks up at me make me want to crawl into a hole and die. I’m so fucking embarassing.

Jaron wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my stomach. “Too bad for our kids,” he murmurs.

I’m able to relax, but just barely. I touch my neck where he was biting me earlier. “You better not have left any marks,” I threaten, because being mean feels comfortable.

“I’m trying,” he complains. “Your skin doesn’t bruise.”

Jerk. Why would he purposely give me hickeys? “Well I bet your skin bruises,” I snap. I push him over onto his back. “My turn.”

He starts laughing, pushing me off halfheartedly, as I pull down his collar. “Indra! Hold on! Lower okay? I don’t want people to see.”

“I do what I want,” I tell him. Though I listen and kiss his collarbones instead. I didn’t need him explaining to his parents why he was covered in hickeys after emerging from the room with me.