Can of Worms - 2

Someone jumped off the building in front of me.

But the sky was clear for the most part, and there was barely any sign of rain until it just started to pour everywhere.

He mostly splattered into pieces on the floor, but a solid mass of flesh remained. Brains, hair, eyes, bones, innards, genitals, all out in the open in a big soup.

Following the death and a series of testimonials, both to law enforcement and the university administration, they suggested that I’d talk to the campus grief counselors. I refused.

In the end, they persisted, and persisted and persisted. I leveraged a lot of excuses, all relating to school obligations, time management, etcetera. After a meandering while of back and forths and them countering/supplementing any reasonable concern I had, my hands were tied. If I really wanted to though, I would’ve just rejected indefinitely.

This sequence of events, for better or for worse, had led to my present condition: in my dorm room, staring at the ceiling, counting away the unproductive hours until my meeting.

(I’m bored out of my mind. I’m about ready to blow my brains out, I'm so bored. This should be obvious, but university life isn’t as interesting as it is in shows and movies. Even if, in some respects, I wish it would be. Though I can find some similarities with the light novels I read from time to time to where I’m currently studying, the level of isolation isn’t the same from high school to college.

What I really mean to say is that I don’t know anyone from class. Nor have I ever talked to any of them outside of class, which is probably a problem for most young adults today. I don’t know anyone’s name, nor do I intend to. But even having said that, I don’t think I would call myself a lonely person. Being alone doesn't mean you're lonely. Sometimes even being with a lot of people can be really lonely. But that sounds like a cop-out. I used to have this notion a long time ago that maybe making friends would ease this boredom. But even though this could probably work for most people, it almost certainly didn’t work for me. People say that friendships aren’t easy to come by and cultivate, and I agree with that as a common consensus among people. However, in this regard, I’m a total outlier. For me, making social connections with others is one of the easiest things I can do. And if I could toot my own horn for a bit, I’d argue that I’m better at talking with others than the vast majority of people, but that goes without saying that where I do lack, I seem to lack noticeably. I have issues maintaining friendships, or even relationships well. I wouldn’t call myself autistic, in the literal sense, and I wouldn’t say that I don’t know what to do or say, it’s just that I never really want to.

When people say they don’t “want to”, what they usually mean is that they’re coping with how they actually feel. What “want to” to them means is that they’re too afraid or suck at doing whatever it is they don’t “want to" do. I want to separate myself from these types of people, not because I feel like I’m better than them, but because it just doesn’t adequately portray what I’m trying to say.

“I don’t want to because I don’t feel like doing so.”, that’s the jist of it. I could if I wanted, I know everything to say if I wanted, but I just don’t. Having the motivation to do so is not in my nature. I simply don’t feel fulfilled or happy or amused by friendships.

If this makes me sound like a weirdo, I don’t care. It’s how I am, and I don’t know what I could do to change it. Since then, I’ve reserved myself to living the life I’m currently leading, and I feel good about it. I am not depressed or sad like all the other losers in similar positions, as much as they don’t want to claim that they’re losers. I’m a “loser”, but I don’t whine about it when someone calls me out. Then again, I don’t have the same problems they have, so there’s that.)

It’s a ten-minute walk to the counselor's office, but the meeting isn’t for another hour. I’ll get something to drink.

So I got up and out of my daze. My dorm is a humble abode, not that anyone here gets any special treatment. It’s just a simple dorm room.

I stretched my arms over my head, and put on my sneakers, which lay haphazardly on the carpet in awkward directions. I usually take the elevator downstairs, but this time, I’ll take the longer route to the vending machines to take in the scenery.

There’s a total of three machines here. One for alcohol, the other for drinks of all kinds, and then snacks. I don’t know if I have to explain what’s on them or not, but it’s basically what you have in your generic American vending machine, obviously excluding stuff that might be exclusive to your area. If you want some perspective on the alcohol vending machine though, which is one of the perks of going to this university, I bought 750 mL from it to wash away my sorrows after midterms a few nights ago. You need to use some form of identification obviously, which your Student ID works fine for.

“Now…what should I get?”

My usual pick is just the machine’s off-brand cola. There’s no point in choosing some random item that I may or may not like. Right now isn’t the time to explore.

Scene Insert: (0111)

I can always tell when they’re looking at me. My back tightens up, and goosebumps start to appear all over, but I’m not startled. It’s not that type of feeling.

I’ve known for a while now that someone’s been following me.

I don’t know who’s doing it, but I don’t mind. If it was a guy, I’d be more on edge. I’m not saying women wouldn’t be able to hurt me, they could, probably with a weapon. But if I’m being completely honest, I just find the idea of being chased around by some obsessed sicko kind of hot. Though that probably isn’t the case.

If I end up getting stabbed to death, oh well. I understood the risk, and I took it. I’m probably worrying over nothing; there’s no way someone like that exists on this campus, especially with how isolated it was made to be.

As my drink was dispensed from the machine, I grabbed it and started to beeline towards her. I did this so she wouldn’t run away as soon as I looked.

She was hiding behind a bush that lay beside a bench to the left of the machines, in a wing of the campus’ central park. I marched towards her at a steady pace as I opened my cola and took a gulp. Her dead eyes were dead set on me. The stare never faltered.

Throughout all of this, I was strangely calm. I didn’t seem to mind her indifferent attitude to getting caught, even though I should have. I felt strangely at ease, as if some arbitrator of goodness had come down to meet me and told me specifically that I was somehow doing a good job.

It's a highly volatile and risky situation, I acknowledge that.

???: “Stop right there, cola calamari.”

Scene End

As she released this stern command, using the weird moniker she had bestowed on me, she got up from her location, without letting go of her iron tight look. At this point, I was only a few meters away, but I listened to her order.

A woman appeared before me, clad in the standard school uniform the university assigns everyone upon enrollment. For girls, a gray collared undershirt wielding a black bow string and rows of black buttons. Over the undershirt, a black cardigan that’s fielded with four sets of golden buttons reaching the torso. Down to the thigh, a black skirt, and the legs covered by black thigh highs. The shoes, chunky black loafers. Four stripes on her shoulder blade indicates a fourth-year student.

A red ribbon overlapped a lock of her gray hair, covering slightly the sight of her crimson eyes. Her pale complexion contorted into a puzzled picture, and her hand moved to touch her chin.

???: “Hear that? Day four at the vending machines. So only three hundred and seven. Scenario nine-hundred and eighty-three. I understand…you should remember that it starts with code delta.”

Day four, scenario…why is she just spouting random shit? Is it that she wants me to ask about it? Maybe she had something planned for our meeting? Obviously with something as specific as calling out random dates and digits and scenarios, it all probably means something, it’s not just “random shit”. I should press her.

???: “I’ll need you to come with me, Abel. And I know you want to ask questions, but I also know that you’re curious to see where I’ll lead you. So, please. Hold your enthusiasm.”

“Y’know, following you, a stranger, to an unknown location is an iconic way to get killed, or stabbed.”

???: “Uhum. I’m aware. But I’m also aware that you can’t help but follow me either way, ain’t that right partner?”

“Hah. Okay, after you then…And what was your name again? You know mine, which comes as no surprise since you’ve been following me for quite a while, so it seems weird if you don’t tell me yours.”

She started to walk through the park, so I followed suit right behind her.

???: “Address me as Ayana for now, cola calamari.”

I didn’t expect anything other than an alias, anyway. What’s odd though is that she wanted me to know it was an alias. Otherwise, why would she pick something so blatant.

“Ayana it is then…Oh and also, I have to be somewhere in an hour, so if…”

Ayana: “The counselor’s office, yes. The place I want to show you is near there, so you’ll make it on time. Don’t worry, we’ll just be touring.”

“Y’know, I can ditch it if whatever you want to show me is that important to you. I don’t mind.”

Ayana: “Don’t be silly, Abel! You have obligations to uphold! Aren’t you worried about your mental health?!”

An abrupt change in tone.

“It’s rather stark of you to care so much about my reputation on this campus and my mental health, especially after all the anxiety you’ve put me through by following me all this time!”

Ayana: “Oh? Didn’t you find that kind of thing hot? I know most guys would. If I was a guy, I know you wouldn’t have reacted the same as you did just now, but that’s how double standards go anyway, misogynist.”

“A misogynist? Whoa, what’s with the harsh words? Actually, other than being a bit more on edge, I’m pretty sure I would’ve reacted similarly.”

Ayana: “Is that so? Yeah, I guess maybe you would have. I’m just pulling your leg, Abel. I am being harsh.”

What strikes me as odd about this comment is her seamless attitude, and her apparent understanding of how I think. It’s just that the way she says things isn’t like how someone who's just been caught stalking someone else would react, it feels more like if we were great friends who’ve just recently reunited after a long time apart. It’s not good to come to hasty conclusions, I know that. (But the vast majority of people wouldn’t act like this. They’d probably get all flustered and run away or say something like: ‘Aha. Tehee. I’m just a stupid dumb bitch broad that doesn’t know what to say. I'm a woman, I couldn’t do any harm!’ Or something dumb like that trying to deny their situation. Even among people who are capable of stalking others, this is abnormal.) I’m just saying that’s the way it feels like, at least.

“Oh yeah? I think maybe you’re just saying that because you don’t want to defend what you’re saying.”

Ayana: “Eh? It feels like you want to start an argument with me, Abel. Is that what’s happening here? Or is it something even more sinister, are you trying to see how I’d react to pushback? If you want, come at me.”

Exhibit A

“How long have you been following me actually? I’ve known since the start of this week.”

Ayana: “Oh. It’s been way longer than that. Of course, you wouldn’t know, but I can see that you’re trying to get a feel for your situation. Did I say something wrong for you to change topics so quickly? Partner?”

“Well, you’ve said all the right things. It’s kind of fun talking to you. But obviously, that’d mean that you have a deeper motive here that I’m not aware of. Partner.”

Ayana: “Heh. It’s through here. We need to take the stairs up to the rooftop. Follow me.”

She was pointing to a backdoor of building D, the one adjacent to building C. Maybe she’s planning to push me off.

“After you.”

I opened the door for her, and she walked right in without batting an eye at me. I followed suit right behind while she walked up the flight of stairs, making sure to place my nearly empty cola can next to the entrance.

Ayana: “You wouldn’t know yet, but it’s kind of ironic that it’s difficult for both of us to climb these stairs.”

“How so?”

Ayana: “It’d be better if you found out the joke yourself.”

“How will I? Will I suddenly burst into laughter as soon as you show me what you want to show me?”

Ayana: “Maybe.”

Maybe?

No further chatter sparked between us before we reached the top floor, but the silence was quickly broken when Ayana pushed through the door.

Ayana: “I’d like to ask you a single question. If you answer correctly, I’ll tell you what I am and why I’ve been following you. Are those terms agreeable?

The moon gave setting to those words, and the fence surrounding us was what trapped us here. I came this far, so I had to take the last step.

“What’s the question?”

Ayana: “Before I ask, I want to say that I know. You’ll understand what I mean when I ask the question. So, answer without objection.”

“Isn’t that ominous.”

Ayana: “Abel. What were the last letters of all my responses before we entered this building? And what do they spell out?”

A deafening silence filled the room as I stared blankly at the person in front of me. That same feeling of being weirdly at ease, it returned to me in that second with an unknown might. And in that same second, I could confidently say that I wasn’t surprised in the least.

“I-A-M-R-I-G-H-T-H-E-R-E. I am right here.”

A silence followed shortly after her question.

The evening sunset contrasted the rising moon and the darkness of the incoming night. Right before the sun gave out to its daily anesthetic, in an odd crimson glory shining behind her, she explained.

Ayana: “I can only say that you aren’t yourself yet. That you are merely a shadow. And that you’ve yet to learn anything at all.”

“Then why won’t you-”

Ayana: “-Because I don’t have to. And frankly, nothing I do would even matter, nothing I say right now will have any bearing on the outcome. Everything I do is irrelevant. In truth, if you want to know what I think…all of this is pointless. Everyone wants to pretend like it means anything, but they’re only saying that because they just aren’t aware of it. You’re the only one that matters, and you’re the only actual bad person here.”

“I’m flattered by your words, really. But what are you even getting at, why can’t you just be blunt with me?”

Ayana: “It’s always be blunt this, be straightforward that, don’t beat around the bush. I hate how you say that like you're doing so much to help the conversation when you’re so oblivious to the fact that you’re the biggest liar of all. I can’t take the contradiction anymore…”

A deafening silence swiftly filled the air for a second time. It should’ve given me time to think, but I was only filled with a persisting and unmet curiosity. I couldn’t find the words, and I wasn’t in a position to make definitive conclusions.

Ayana: “Listen up, I’m only going to tell you this once, and I won’t repeat it again. This will be the last amount of contact I have with you for the rest of the day. I will not contact you further or make arrangements until certain conditions are met. This might happen as early as tomorrow, or as late as next month. Whatever the case, you should listen to what I tell you now…In the next forty-eight hours you will experience certain changes to your personality and mental state. All I can say is that this is a normal process and not the sign of an underlying condition. Depending on the rate and onset of the change, I will approach you again. Because of your nature, you will most likely conclude that I’ve poisoned you in some way, but it will readily become apparent that this cannot be the case. Everything is set up in such a way that the only way to excel in these circumstances is to simply do what you would do normally. That is all.”

More than anything.

…More than anything, there was just one question I wanted answered the most. It wasn’t anything in her monologue, or anything about the more ominous comments. It was actually a premonition, a direct attack at my sanity and my beliefs. If what I thought was true, then she’d know that I’d start to question it. She’d also know that I wouldn’t be able to accept things as she’s making them out to be. At this point, there were still many more probable and more normal explanations, but something had compelled me to ask.

“What even are you?”

A stare was blankly pointed in my direction.

In the same way I had been calm, I was now simply unnerved. Her dead eyes, the way they stared at me, her contorted expression, it all felt like I shouldn’t have come there, like I had made some grave mistake. And then she spoke.

Ayana: “I am the Self-Insert. I am the Attorney. I am the Facilitator...I am the Lurker at the Threshold. I go by many names, and many people call me many things, but what would most accurately describe me in this situation would be that.”

More than anything.

…‘What an intriguing person’. In the few seconds of stillness that followed, that’s all I could muster to think about. ‘What an interesting person this Ayana fellow is’. Not: ‘Damn dawg, she’s actually crazy holy fuck dude’, and absolutely nothing like: ‘I bet I can exploit her batshitness’. Definitely: ‘These were the types of people I’d enjoy spending time with’.

Ayana: “I won’t answer any more questions.”

After her stern conclusion, she started towards the door, and it didn’t take long until she made it there. All of her steps were comically audible as she walked down the stairs with a vehement voracity. (Blop, blap, blep, blap; for reference, if you were curious how it sounded.)

To tell you the truth, I felt like I had been cucked and blue-balled, like someone had jacked me off right before climaxing and then kicked me in the balls.

But it was about time for me to leave, anyway.