Chapter 5: Can Of Worms – 2

Someone jumped off a building in front of me yesterday.

But the sky was clear for the most part, and there were no signs of rain until it just started to pour on me. I obviously didn’t check the forecast (Why would I? It wasn’t an outing), so I ended up soaked by the time I got indoors.

He mostly splattered into pieces on the floor, but a solid mass of flesh remained. Brains, hair, eyes, bone, innards, genitals, all out in the open in a big mush. If we’re talking about a full-sized adult male, the blood alone, being at an upwards of a gallon or so, was enough to paint the street red, in a way that could only be adequately described as “vomit-shaped”.

The university administration wanted me to talk to the campus grief counselors, for obvious and probably good reasons, I told them this: "I can't right now, but maybe when I'm less busy". They persisted as one would expect, but it's not like they can force me to go.

In the end, they settled on offering me time off, which they in all likelihood would’ve done either way. Seeing as I couldn’t very well refuse at that point, since I already leveraged the only reasonable excuse I had. I decided on going. If I really wanted to though, I would’ve just rejected.

And with that, we’re all caught up.

Invariably, this sequence of events, for better or for worse, has led to my present condition: in my dorm room, staring at the ceiling.

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

What I mean to say is that I don’t know anyone in any of my classes. 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.

That said, 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. For a lot of people, friendships aren’t easy to come by and cultivate. 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 this usually means is that they’re coping with how they actually feel. What “want to” to them usually 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 others, 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 what I’m trying to say. I could, if I wanted, I know everything to say if I wanted to, 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 and walk around for a while. And maybe I’ll even run into someone.

I got up and out of my daze. My dorm is a humble abode, not that anyone here gets any special treatment anyway. It’s just a simple dorm room. Imagine you're facing my room from the door. I have my bed at the bottom corner, my desk and desktop computer to your left, parallel to my bed, and bathroom diagonal to my bed, all in about 250 square feet. It’s not much, but it's mine. I’ve made a lot of memories here.

I stretched my arms over my head, and put on my sneakers, which lay haphazardly on the carpet in awkward directions. Next up, is the door. To my left is the stairs down. To my right is the elevator. I usually take the elevator, but the vending machines are to my left.

The end of the hall is a decent feat away. I’m in the middle of the boys' dormitory on my floor, so the inconvenience has become commonplace at this point. But in a roundabout way, maybe being in the middle is the best place to be since it’s an equal distance to both ends of the hall.

When I arrived at the stairs, all that would stand before me would be five flights of steps, a quick pass through the lobby, filled with a common area, centers, and other amenities, and a back door. Which just so happens to contain the vending machines right next to it. Needless to say, I followed this route.

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 guess, I recently bought a 750 mL of Jack Daniels from it. For it, you need to use some form of identification obviously, which your student ID works fine for. But I’ll do the honors of pointing it out for you, if you care. It’s right at the top corner, number 101.

“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 a 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 me, 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. And besides, I’m a college student, I’m bound to make stupid decisions that I’ll only regret when I’m on the ground getting stabbed.

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, calling me a so-called “cola calamari”, she got up from her location without letting go of her iron tight look at me. 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 enrolling but is only ever actually used during special events. 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.

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

Day four, scenario…why is she just spouting random shit with no hope of me understanding? I guess she wants me to ask, that much is clear, but it all sounds like 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.”

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

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

“Hah. Please, 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, I followed suit right behind her.

???: “Address me as Nayana 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? And can she stop calling me cola calamari? I wouldn't even care if I knew what it meant.

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

Nayana: “The counselors 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.”

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

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

To note: 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!”

Nayana: “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 harsh words. Actually, other than being a bit more on edge, I’m pretty sure I would’ve reacted similarly.”

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

Nayana: “Eh? It feels like you want to have 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 wish, come at me.”

Exhibit A

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

Nayana: “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?”

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

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

She was pointing at a backdoor of building D 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 as she walked up the flight of stairs, making sure to place my nearly empty cola can next to the entrance.

Nayana: “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?”

Nayana: “I’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?”

Nayana: “Maybe.”

Maybe?

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

Nayana: “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?”

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

“Isn’t that ominous.”

Nayana: “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.”

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