Heat

The heat is unbearable, sweat trickling down my body. The heat is comforting in the sense that it demands nothing. It's comforting in the way that it just takes. It doesn't ask, it just is. Almost awake and aware of the heat, I stand up and wander around my apartment. The heat makes it impossible to think. I should be at work today, but I'm not. I don't know why I'm not. I'm just not. It's the heat. I can't turn on the ac, it's broken and the heat is confusing me.

Around 11 he calls. "Why aren't you here?" he asks. The truth. I'm too broken down and tired from the heat to tell the truth. "Sick" I say and the minute the words leave my mouth I regret it. He'll want to come over. "I'll come over?" and his voice is hesitant and small, so different from his office tone and I want him. Here. "Sure" I say, not thinking correctly. It's the heat; it's just the damn heat. It never asks. He always does.

Around 1.45 he calls again. "Leo wants you here" I nod at the phone and he seems to see it. "CJ wants you here" I doubt that. His voice is distant, but he seems near, none the less. Sam, close and distant, always has been always will be. I want to keep him close, closer, but it's just the heat "Donna wants you back so she can yell at you" And now my head really does hurt, and it's starting to spin. It's the heat, all the heat, the sweat and the dehydration, making me confused. I sit down with a thud, and put down the phone. Only then does it occur to me. I didn't say a word.

"Josh" He never knocks, just calls out my name, and I don't want him here like this. I want him to be more than this, and it hurts and it's the damn heat, making me think wrong.

He sits next to me on the couch, peering at me over his glasses with a worried air. He tells me that it's hot, and that I should turn the ac on. I tell him to leave it, and the heat's taking over me again, and he touches my cheek. And his hand is cold, and the touch spreads ice on my face and it feels good. But it's just the heat, just the heat, burning me up from inside out; it has nothing to do with wanting Sam, nothing to do with my best friend, sitting on the couch looking worried. It's only the heat.

When he gets up to leave, he asks me again. "Why weren't you there?" And this time the heat really is too much and I tell him the truth. I don't know, but I'm was tired, and it was so hot, and I wanted him too much, and the heat, the heat was consuming me. And he blinks, and the room goes cold.

The next morning, it's so cold, that I have to hold Sam tight to my body to keep warm.