Inhale/exhale

“Good fucking dickbagging cuntnuggetting holy shit of asstards, what the motherfucking dicklicking crotchrubbing pissdrinking weaselgit thing to do. Fucking hell man, Fuckmcfucking hell”.

“Fuck mcfucking hell”, Jason repeated. Rob exhaled.

Jason inhaled. “Jeez that’s a lot of swearwords Rob. Care to elaborate?”

Rob did not inhale. “No i fucking do not care to fucking elaborate you dickweed my friend is fucking dying and you’re starting a god damn argument over bullshit nothingness that’s not even fucking related to anyfucking thing useful…and”…and this is where Rob ran out of breath and mostly responded with spittle.

Rob did not inhale, and after a while his face started turning blue so his rage took a temporary timeout and in those few seconds of shallow gasps and potent glares Jason tested the waters.

“Look man, I’m sorry” he began, pausing, waiting for the oh so familiar ‘fucking’ interruption, but it didn’t come, he looked to Rob, eyes downcast, far away. “I wasn’t trying to start anything, really…it doesn’t matter.” His platitudes rolled off as sweetly as they usually did, and they were normally enough to pacify anyone’s anger and frustration. Rob just inhaled.

A great sigh, a huge sigh. Lungs lifting and collapsing like an explosion shattering the foundations of the soul. “I know…I know. It’s, it’s ok” he replied, eyes still absent. “It’s not you, I’m not even angry.”

“Not angry? then…?” The question left unuttered, but understood, “No Jase, not angry….sad, you know? Sad…and upset. You know how when you stub your toe on the door and it’s like the whole fucking worlds on fire and you just want to stab something and swear?”

Jase thought no but said yes, he understood the point at least.

“It’s like that, when you’re hurting, you get angry. Natural, human, evolutionary, biological, psychological,and fucking fuck Nietzsche and his ubermensh bullshit, fuck him and all the whole asstarded world with this ridiculous concept that boys don’t as my Robert fucking smith stated cry. Fuck that. Fuck it hard. I have fucking feelings, right? Right. Yeah. Right.”

Jase wondered, briefly, if he was merely a narrative construct to further the discussion of feelings and transferring of intent vis a vis Waiting for Godot. In some kind of potent metaphoric sense their relationship was being used to explore the differences between the rational logical self who denies emotions and the emotional destructive self that struggles with cultural expectations of stoicism and all that stiff upper lip nonsense but figured that would be entirely too self referential and meta, so simply responded, “so why don’t you just express the feelings you feel, Rob?”

Rob inhaled, quite aware of his allegorical nature, quite aware that the society in which he lives warps his thought patterns, pushing him to express pain as violence, responded rather more succinctly, “Because when I do, people like you express an inability to understand”

Jase simply spluttered, “what do you mean by that”

Rob exhaled, “Exactly.”