The two young men lay in the basement, one on the couch and one on the floor, staring blankly at the television. It was dark down there; the only thing keeping the room illuminated was the light shining from the television, making their faces barely visible. The clock next to the window read half past one and each second that ticked by was audible even through the sound from the TV. On any other night they’d have been asleep already, but on this night, with the scent of perfume still lingering in the air of the room they now lay, sleep eluded them without difficulty.
“You can’t do that. It’s against the rules,” he said from the couch, breaking the silence that hung between them for so long.
“It’s not my fault,” the boy from the floor shortly responded.
They were both sitting up now, looking at each others faces, trying to read the expressions but failing. The sounds and images projected from the TV were now disregarded, their minds focused only on the ensuing conversation.
“You wouldn’t have been here tonight if it wasn’t for me. You realize that?”
“Yeah, but I can’t help it.”
“You don’t talk to her, were never interested, and shouldn’t be,” said the boy now sitting up on the couch, his voice rising.
“I can’t help who I start to like,” responded the second teen, defensively.
“Yeah, but you can acknowledge the fact that I was interested in her first. And you wouldn’t have met her without me. And her friend was for you anyway.”
At this the boy on the floor turned away, wrapping himself in his blanket and staring at the ceiling while once again the dull voices of the TV and the methodic ticking of the clock took over the room.
