though i have since grown out of my Super Dark Phase and adrien has much too nice of a voice for this
whenever i listen to nirvana or korn (WHATEVER DEAL WITH IT I LIKE KORN OKAY) i still imagine it’s adrien singing
“Maybe? Maybe it is. Maybe I just – “ I slump back onto the couch and put my head in my hands. I’m quiet for a few moments, and Robyn, god bless her, she doesn’t say a thing. “After we broke up, I started thinking a lot. I thought about how much he fucked up my life – how much he fucked me up. I was real fucked up, Robyn. And I thought – maybe if I was just a little more … maybe if I just had a little more control, everything would be OK. But I didn’t know how to … it just went out of control. In my trying to get control, I lost it …”
I feel really dissociative right now, like it’s not me who’s talking. Maybe it’s the spirit of my grandfather in my body, telling all of my naughty secrets. Maybe he’s about to tell Robyn about the first time I tried to have sex, and how he couldn’t actually get it in.
Nothing else comes, though. We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and then Robyn hugs me again, tightly, like she’s afraid if she lets go, I might disappear.
“Adrien, baby, we need to get you some help,” she says to my shirt. I grunt noncommittally. “No, really, I mean it. You need help – you can’t fight this on your own.”
I tell her that maybe I’ll think about it, when we secure our revenue. Maybe I’ll go back to that nice facility I went to in our senior year – you know, the one with the pool, and all of the big ferns? I’ll try and get better, because I don’t like having this sickness take over my life. I’m really tired of being sick.
What I don’t tell her is that I’ve already fought this sickness, and that it’s already won.