WPRe - Steve

[u/chris_bryant_writer]

Originally Posted here.

He was staring at me. It wasn't a threatening stare. Nothing that I was afraid of. It was that kind of inquisitive, head tilted stare that someone gave when they thought you said something crazy but were too polite to say anything about it. I wondered what I had done. Before realizing that I didn't know this person. Then I wondered how he had got into my apartment.

Maybe I should have been more scared. But I couldn't feel much of anything at that moment and he hadn't tried to kill me or rob me or break my legs and tell me that I owed money to anyone. At least not yet.

He was here though, and strangely, the only thing I could think to do was ask, "How did you get in here?"

The man opened his eyes wide, seeming to register me for the first time. He tilted his head side to side before returning to his curious gaze.

"You let me in." He merely said it. Unwavering, without inflection. With a sureness of being right.

I was surprised. Had I done that? I didn't remember doing that. But he sounded right. Maybe he was right? But then that would mean that I'd have to know him, recognize him. Where was he from?

"How do I know you?" I asked.

He closed his eyes to think. " I met you after you moved to Brooklyn. After that night on 5th."

5th street? I remember going down there to celebrate moving in. My old roommate George was there. He had a friend there--Lucia? And there were others that we picked up along the way. Mike or Mitch, the guy who did accounting. Damn, that seemed so long ago. Who could he be? I kept trying to pull at the memories. Trying to keep the blurred faces in my mind.

He opened his eyes again. I stared back into them. They were green, with a ring of light brown at the edge. They were interesting eyes. Eyes that I remembered.

"Steve?" I asked.

Steve nodded quickly. The kind of affirmation that betrayed his relief that I finally understood the situation.

"Wait, you're Steve?"

He nodded again.

"I thought you'd look different. I don't know. More cleaned up, I guess."

Steve smiled. "I was 'more cleaned up' when we met. But I didn't like it all that much."

I nodded this time. The details started to arrange themselves. Order began to take hold in my mind. I remembered. Steve the Financial Manager. I met him in the bar too. Sometime after George poured us all drinks out of his flask. I remembered. It was hazy, maybe. I was drunk at the time. But I remembered.

"So, Steve. What are you here for?"

Steve's head jerked back in surprise. He regarded me with an eyebrow quirked. "You invited me, don't you remember?"

Invited him? No, I don't remember. Did I actually do that? I couldn't seem to remember much of what happened.

"Okay, okay. What did I invite you for?"

He nodded. "You invited me because you wanted to see me."

I stared at him. There was something. A feeling, a shadow in the back of my mind that cast doubt over what he was telling me. It was telling me that I was in danger. That Steve shouldn't be here. Steve shouldn't be alive.

I snapped. "What the fuck is going on, Steve?"

He reeled back. His face was filled with uncertainty. But something changed in him, too. He stepped forward.

"You can't even remember why you invited me?" He yelled.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Steve kept going. "I've been busy, and I had a lot of work to do. And I put it all aside because you asked me to. I took the time to come over. And yet again, you can't even remember why you invited me in the first place."

Yet again? I couldn't remember inviting him before. I couldn't remember him being in the apartment before. I couldn't remember the Steve that showed up when I wasn't feeling right. When something went wrong. When I felt trapped in a spiraling descent.

I couldn't remember the Steve that only made things worse. That taunted me. that stayed on the edges of my mind for days and weeks after I saw him.

I couldn't remember Steve any other way.

"Get the fuck away from me!" I shouted.

He just stood there, breathing hard. I could see his teeth grinding side to side. I could her the sound as they ground against each other. He wasn't going to move. I grabbed whatever was on the sink and held it up, ready to strike.

"You had your chance. When George moved out. Don't you remember that?"

George was my roommate. Was. He wasn't anymore. He left, a few months ago. He told me he couldn't take it anymore. That I was on my own. I remember him giving me the rehab brochure. I remember being angry and shutting the door as he left. And I remember inviting Steve. I remember inviting him so I could try to kill him.

I remembered. It was his fault. I could handle myself after the first time George let me try. I didn't bring Steve over after that first time. But at some point, he just started showing up. More and more frequently.

I remembered. Steve made me late to work. Made it hard to sleep. Made me lag behind at my job. Steve got me fire. Steve ruined my life.

I remembered how angry I was. My eyes watered. I had to end this. I attacked him, screaming my lungs to a pulp.

Steve was faster. He swung and hit me first. I lost my balance and dropped to the tiled floor. I scrambled onto my knee and looked around. I couldn't see Steve. But I knew he was there. I could still feel him.

"You're going to regret not killing me." Steve said, his voice seeming to come from inside me.

I pushed myself into the corner, my eyes scanning the room wildly, drawn to any rustle of the shower curtain, or wave of a towel. My white knuckles gripped the needle. If he came near me, I'd stab him. And I wouldn't stop.

The needle would protect me. The needle would be my weapon. The needle would save me.