Agoraphobia by CharlieandEm (the gingerbread man read aloud TXT) 📕

living area. A kitchen, small from what I could see from my position, followed an invisible route from the front door, across the carpeted floor of the lounge. In time to come this route would be engraved by Sebastian’s motion, and I too would follow its course. Later in the evening I had leave to uncover a small, neat, tiled bathroom, a messy bedroom and a pokey, dark study. All of his walls were white, and only the lounge and kitchen had pictures. Sebastian lived in a state of bachelor minimalism. It suggested simplicity, honesty and propriety. Neatness was out of obligation, but the state of his bedroom assured me that that pressure was alleviated for tonight. The very realisation of this echoed a distant inflection of sex; like the drop of water into water in an empty house. It was quiet, hollow and concealed, but it existed. Sebastian sat with me on his ratty couch, which was warm and allowed you to sink into it, and remained polite. It was not an insecurity that led him to maintain this, nor was it propriety. I was sure of these to things. Sebastian and I were dancing; I was leading. When I stepped back, he stepped back. He stayed at arms length, when my arm was bent or when it was full extended. He let me choose the music of our dance, a convenient reality to the metaphor I concocted in my mind; because the music dictated the steps, and the steps led to the finale – one that he let me determine.
We sat close; eyes touching lips and hands; but not close enough that hands touched hands and lips touched lips. Our dance ended, at 10 o’ clock, when Robin knocked on the door – promptly as I had asked him to.
“I see that she’s well fed and,” Robin leaned towards me to inspect my face, “Not at all drunk…” he looked puzzled but stopped embarrassing me immediately, as my face turned redder than it had been from Sebastian’s closeness and warmth.
“Goodbye,” I turned to Sebastian, blocking my brother from my view, “I enjoyed this.” I tried to be soft and delicate, but I sounded typical and flippant.
“I’d like to see you again.” Sebastian smiled, “Preferably not as an escape plan.” He whispered. I yielded to his closeness and absorbed his smell. “Can I walk you to the car?” he asked quietly. I pulled away from him, my skin starting to tighten.
“That won’t be necessary.” Robin said behind me. “We haven’t had quality time in a while.” He settled his quick reply into its languid explanation, the rubato of his mind ensuring a neater expression. Robin took me into his coat and I closed my eyes as we walked out of Sebastian’s house. I did not turn to look back, but Robin waved over his shoulder. Robin helped me into the car and switched on the small light above my head. I opened my eyes just as he entered his own door. “Cheers!” Robin called to Sebastian, framed by the light of the house behind him.
Half way down the road I allowed myself to breathe and Robin squeezed my hand. “Do you want to turn on some music?” he asked tenderly. Robin toyed between insensitive, selfish boy and gentle, bright young man. Even he is not sure which he wants to be.
“Not really.”
“So do you like this guy, or what?” Robin glanced at me before he turned the first corner. Seven more corners to go. “Is he your type, I mean, do you even have a type?” he grinned out of a fiendish mirth; “Did you do it?”
“Yes, no, because no, and no.” I said, comforted by his joviality. “Did you?”
“Not after that food. The smell of burning flesh throughout the whole house detracts from the mood somewhat.” I laughed at his bluntness.
“How did she take it?”
“Better than expected.” He turned the second corner. Robin did not say anything for a while because he was giving me space to elaborate on my night. To me his expectation felt less like room to feel comfortable, and more like multiple points of compression that threatened to squeeze the information out of me in unison.
“His house is tidy.” I commented when I could bear no more of the squeezing.
“Is that so, why do you think that is?”
“He likes tidiness.”
Robin made the sound of a buzzer in a game show. “Wrong!” He turned the third corner. “He wants to impress you.”
“Is that good?” I humoured his brotherly input.
“It could be,” he smiled at me and the street light flashed against his teeth, “But is he isn’t really neat, why should he lie about what he is? If it impresses you now, the truth will only disappoint you later.” This irritated me. If Robin wanted to know what I thought about Sebastian, which he did, he did not have to negate the things that I admired. The selfish brother was starting to ware through the thin outer layer of sympathy he had for me. Robin’s night had been mediocre, so Robin needed to make Olivia’s night equal or less than his; that is how Robin’s mind worked. Whether it was the competitiveness of his lifestyle that had worked this into him, or the nagging of successive girlfriends that made misery love company; this was Robin’s worst quality and it irritated me.
“What’s the issue between you two anyway?” I asked.
“Nothing, I don’t know him. It’s not like I have a problem with every person that you know Olivia, I just have high standards for my sister and myself.”
“Oh please, you have bad blood between most people. I’m surprised you have any friends.” Robin turned the fourth corner. Half way and we were already arguing.
“People like me, because of how I am.”
“Then you must be different around them. If my friends were as selfish as you are, I’d never stand to be around them.”
“You stand to be around me.” He replied irritably.
“I suffer through you,” I snapped. “When you’re being pig headed.” I corrected. Robin was quiet for a while, until we turned the next corner. I expected a dismissive reply to my confrontation, one that he was taking his time to formulate.
“Maybe I am different around them.” He said slowly. “One would think that I’d be fairer to you.”
“I know you mean to, but one has to work harder to keep friends around.” With that there was instant forgiveness between us. He turned the sixth corner.
“Are you thinking about joining the orchestra?” I asked, remembering a conversation we had had before I left for Sebastian’s.
“I’ll see how Ron takes it.” He said shortly. I knew that he was cringing at his own reply, embarrassed to be under the command of a harpy like Ron.
“You can do better than her, much better.” I told him.
“So they tell me.” He mused, turning the seventh corner. “I’m not sure I want to decide what she is, because then all the parts that I like will be tarnished by…”
“Her insanely controlling persona that you refuse to see.” I filled in his blank.
“Who says that I don’t like that part?” he grinned sardonically and turned into our road and into our driveway.

I saw Sebastian a few times after this, most equally uneventful but pleasant enough for us both to consider repeating the experience. Robin grew less inquisitive as time went onwards until one evening, with the power of Ron behind him, he held an intervention. I was sitting, reading a nook that my mother had converted into a sunny window seat when my father had been promoted several years before. It was a strange place from them to catch me: both choosing to dampen the sunshine with the apparent morbidity of my life choices.
“Olive, I’m very worried about your relations with that Sebastian guy.” Ron started, “He’s really creepy and I’ve never seen him when we go out.” She simultaneously lost all credibility she had started with and made me change my mind about looking up from my book. “Olive, I know that you love to read,” she said with tremendous severity, “But you must listen to me, darling.” I ignored her for a while and heard intermittent sighs of frustration accompanied by whiffs of her gaudy perfume.
“Come on Olivia.” Robin said. This was the first time I had noticed him, Ron’s overpowering noise and scent too great for my disinterested mind to perceive him behind her. This, after looking at his endearing, hen pecked façade, tipped my carefully tuned scale of politeness. I placed my book in its place, open on my lap, and swivelled so that I could see them completely when I ended this intervention.
“Listen here Ron,” I said, catching a glimpse of my parents scuttling away. They had seen me see them and felt guilty; maybe not as co-conspirators, especially as I knew that they and Robin were happy with Sebastian, but because they had done little or nothing to reign Ron in. I have no place to feel cheated by them, not even Ron’s mother could do anything about her, let alone my own, soft mother. She and my father are architects – eco-friendly pseudo-bohemians, trying to be something great apart and together at the same time. I was never completely sure about their ideology, as they often seem more conventional than I know that they would like to – but, as neither Robin nor I bought into their version of Bohemianism, they are doing their best to raise us without forgetting who they always wanted to be. In that I admire them, because they are trying to be true to what they value. Robin caught onto that, I am still waiting for something to value enough. There is no doubt in my mind that what you begin to see as comfortable, good and usable in the way your parents interact and live, you will aspire to in your own way. Robin gave me a ‘be nice’ look, but I ignored it. He should have thought about that before he encouraged his crazy girlfriend to approach me. “My name is Olivia not Olive. Don’t ever call me Olive again. I’m ignoring you, not because I enjoy reading. I you paid any attention to anyone other than yourself, you’d realise that you’ve never seem me reading before. I am not your darling, so don’t call me that either okay?” She flicked her artificially blonde hair insecurely and I felt a gentle nudge of satisfaction as my brother straightened his little hunch at my rude response. He was offended, of course, not manning up – but I was tired of his pathetic facial expression anyway. I thought that I should give them something worthwhile for their intervention: “You are not my family, their opinions of Sebastian are literally the only opinions I care to hear.”
“I know what I’m talking about Olivia.” She countered, weakly.
“Well, considering we’re giving advice, you’d better keep and eye on your man, Veronica. You never know what might happen if he catches onto your scheme and dumps your sorry ass out on the street.” I felt mean now, my words tasting like acid, but I liked it. I liked how her face crumpled slightly as Robin looked at her, all confused and innocent. She walked towards a door that led outside. “Careful,” I called to her, “I heard that plastic melts in the sun!”
“You are horrible to her, Olivia.” Robin berated me. “She was just trying to help.”
“Help what?!” I exploded. Even I was not prepared for that, and we both stared dumfounded at each other. “Man up, Robin.” I said quietly, “You’re letting her get between us.