Right off the bat, on their first date, at a campus Starbucks, frequented by seemingly carefree but simultaneously stressed-out students, M told Charles she had five different mental illnesses. At this point, Charles was not even surprised. It seemed like every young person in this goddamn city had at least one mental illness, or some other serious illness. M was beautiful, very young, almost too young for Charles to be comfortable to be seen with her. Charles, as he always does, put a positive spin on this self-proclaimed “mess of a human”. He persuaded himself that this would be interesting, that this would make a good book story later on, or rather, that he would learn a lot about mental health and how people behave. This was Charles’ Odyssey — and M was no Ithaca, it seemed. A siren, perhaps. But Charles never shied away from experience — and he had a lot of time on his hands too. So Charles sat down with a tall Americano, M with a venti Chai Latte. He tied himself to the mast of the boat. He wanted to hear the siren sing — to see what songs she had in store. He couldn’t figure out the emotional expression from her. She spoke the most dreadful things without much show of emotion — just a bland facial expression that showed very little. She talked about her early trauma, where her biological father (this is how she strictly addressed her birth-father, which had a sad, cold ring to it) abused her when she was young, and how that gave her Post Traumatic Syndrome (PTSD). She has been struggling with that ever since, taking medications and going to therapy. She said that she would have anxiety attacks, where she would either freeze up or burst into tears, unable to function. Also, sadly, like most pretty girls Charles met, she has had a couple of abusive relationships, where guys took advantage of her, and her fragile heart. Sadly unsurprising, M defended her previous boyfriend, saying that he was not a bad person, and that he just had problems that he had to figure out.
Charles, already knee-deep into infatuation, wanted to help her. She sounded like she was very unhappy, and sad — rightfully so, since she sounded like she had a lot of bad experiences with men. Charles wanted to fix that. Deep down, this came from a sense of superiority — a need for Charles to fix things, that, some people are misguided and that he should guide them in the right direction. Charles was like that.
They talked for hours, mostly her talking about her background and how her mental illness changed her, and how she wants to become a therapist to help those like her. Charles listened and listened. She never asked him anything. Whenever she felt like she answered the question, she would fall silent, and Charles would scramble to find another conversation topic. Charles felt like he was talking to an NPC in a game, where they say their bit and blankly stare at you. He felt it as a slight waste of time but Charles liked her. It was a mixture between curiosity and diligence. He wanted to see more of her, since it was obvious that she, despite the very personal stories she told, was completely keeping herself hidden. Charles had a somewhat perverted desire to excavate that. He wanted to see her, the real her, and wanted to feel special.
After the first `date’, they kept texting. Texts would be mundane and simple, and it was evident that she was not Charles’ ideal mate. She got high often, she said it was for her anxiety, but Charles rendered it as an escape from her problems. Charles did not understand mental illness — he found it as a mere weakness. Although he tried to be empathetic to people’s problems, he thought being dependent on something was a weakness. M was full of weaknesses, at least in Charles’ eyes. She was officially diagnosed with weaknesses, with pills to help her neutralize (not cure) them. It was tough for Charles to continue conversations with M, but Charles liked her. There was something calming about her, her total lack of awareness of the real world — the absent-mindedness, the lack of motivation — it soothed Charles, who was used to always being in pursuit of some higher ideal, pushing himself to be `better’. M was not like that — she was just floating, drifting through life.
One day, they decided to `hang out’. This relationship was weird, since she openly confessed that she still had feelings about her ex-boyfriend, but she also claimed that she is over him. This directly contradicting statement (and the lack of logic behind the lips in which they are from) concerned Charles, but Charles just wanted to be with her. But Charles reminded himself not to be too involved — which he mostly always fails to do. He wanted to see her room, just more of her. He wanted to know this mysterious, tragic woman.
She lived on campus, on the main street where all the restaurants were. It was a busy street where parking was impossible. The apartment was nice, with a luxurious lobby and swimming pools and shit. Charles navigated the halls that reeked of carefree privilege and stale beer and arrived at her door. M opened the door, and led Charles to her room. It was a small room, lit by a long string of fairy lights. There was little open space — the room was mostly occupied by the bed and a desk — a classic college room. The room was optimized to watch the television, which was one of the only two things on the desk other than her makeup mirror, from the bed. Her Halloween costume — a Chun Li costume — was hung next to the door. On the window ledge there was a small bong, and there were three paintings — a world map, flowers, and of Audrey Hepburn. Minus the bong, this was the room straight out of an apartment brochure.
Unable to find a space to sit, Charles asked if he could sit on the bed. M said yes, and Charles sat on the bed. It was all very mysterious. Most girls Charles encountered were a bit shy, but this wasn’t quite shy — it felt like confusion. Charles felt like M was unsure of this entire situation. For the next hours, Charles and M sat on M’s bed, without much conversation, watching Netflix. M would sometimes go to her bong on the window and take a hit. In the calm, but heavily silent room, they sat there on the bed, side by side, watching an inexplicably boring movie about a mysterious cornfield. Charles hated this. Although he understood the Netflix and Chill culture, Charles hated it. Obviously the possibility of sex was on his mind, but he couldn’t come to think of it — he was awkward like that. Charles was a consent man. He hated how people sleezed(?) their way into sex, he thought that was unhealthy. So he didn’t make a move. It got late and Charles asked if he could sleep over. She said yes. So Charles and M lay on the bed, lights off. After the most awkward of minutes, with distant noises from the campus Friday night — of bottles being dropped, of people shouting obscenities — Charles asked if she wanted to cuddle. She said yes. So they did, very lightly. Her body was tense, which made Charles think if she was not actually comfortable with this situation. Charles asked, “Are you okay?” M said “yes”. Charles was confused. She was impossible to read. His instinct told him that she was uncomfortable but he also didn’t want to let go. But he did, and looked into her eyes and asked “Is everything okay? We don’t have to do any of this if you don’t want”. She replied,
“No it’s okay, just, I don’t know. I like you and everything, it’s just that I’ve never done something like this before.”
“Something like what?”
“Like sleeping with someone that’s not my boyfriend”
“Oh, I mean do what you gotta do, you don’t owe me anything”
“Yea, I just need time, and the whole ex boyfriend thing too. I like you”
“Yea, take all the time you need, take it at your own pace.”
Charles felt very weird. He was the rebound, obviously, but he didn’t mind, because he liked her. Charles and M just slept that night, uncomfortably cuddling, her still being stiff. It was a very awkward night. Charles couldn’t get used to the noise from outside, which continued throughout the night, the drunk students yelling indiscernible noises.
Charles woke up, it was bright. Unlike his room she had no way to block the light. She was still sleeping. Charles, feeling numb, sat up, and just looked around. It all didn’t feel like reality. He looked at M next to him, sleeping, beautiful as any human could be. It was ridiculous, her skin was impeccable, small lips closed shut, and was completely relaxed. It was the first time perhaps, that Charles saw her completely relaxed. She was mostly very tense, with her eyes always observing something other than Charles. Since she was sleeping, Charles sat on the bed and soaked in the silence. The room was dead quiet (he forgot that mornings were quieter on campus), clustered with all the things. Charles observed the room, and tried to think about what happened last night — where is this going? What is this? He haven’t had a clue. It was like watching some obscure Netflix show. You spend hours watching them, not really paying attention or getting anything out of them. You feel like wasting your time but you do it, because it numbs you. It was like cavemen looking at fires.
