Opheliac by J. F. Jenkins Page B

person could have been to him. But what was so bad about wondering what he liked to do? If he got upset over such a stupid question, the guy had a lot more issues than he let on.
    Frowning, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. “Reading, video games, I don’t know. I haven’t stopped to think about it for a while. Going out to do something fun hasn’t exactly been high on my priorities for the past couple of years.”
    â€œBecause you were punishing yourself,” she said softly. Dallas.
    She knew the story. It took a little work, but she finally earned enough of his trust to make him comfortable to the point where he could tell her. Back in the day when Orlando had been one of the popular kids, he’d gone out to a party and in turn blew off his best friend. That night, while Orlando partied, Dallas had taken a razor blade to his wrists and killed himself. Ever since then, Orlando placed a lot of blame on himself.
    No one around him seemed to understand his reaction, but Angela got it. He needed a way to cope with the pain, to make some kind of an amends for his mistake. No, he didn’t have to be so hard on himself, but only he could decide when he felt forgiven. Regardless of what anyone said, even Dallas, who was now as alive as ever, only Orlando got to decide when he was done feeling guilty. She understood, and she respected it, no matter how painful it could be to watch at times. Forcing him to snap out of his funk wouldn’t help, and neither would making a big deal over the issue.
    For a long time, Orlando gazed at her, his attention never leaving her face. “Punishment is a strong word and only half-accurate. Yes, part of me did with hold myself from certain things because I didn’t feel like I should be allowed to have them, but I also just lost a lot of interest. In the grand scheme of things, football, sports in general, life in general…started coming across as really petty. I couldn’t figure out the point of it all. It wasn’t as important as people made it out to be, so I stopped.”
    â€œMakes sense,” she said quietly. Words escaped her. How was she supposed to respond to that? Tell him he was wrong? Because he wasn’t. Logically speaking, he made a good point. And yet, he was the furthest thing from right.
    The smile returned to his face. “But I still found things I liked to do on occasion anyway. Mostly reading, video games. It took some time, but I’m starting to see that petty things might be more important than they seem. I’m blaming it on you.”
    â€œMe? I didn’t do anything!”
    â€œDon’t get so defensive. It’s not like you pushed me into doing heroin, relax. You just have a way of making the smallest of things seem…big.”
    â€œGee, thanks.” Her jaw tightened and she stood up as well so she could throw away her cup.
    Orlando sighed and averted his gaze to the floor. “I was giving you a compliment.” Before she could reply, he walked to the service counter and ordered another drink, along with something from the bakery case.
    She hated seeing him so bummed out. “Fine, then the ‘thanks’ is still applicable. Just pretend I said it without the sarcasm.”
    â€œI’m not sure my imagination is that awesome, but I’ll give it a shot.” He pouted—he was actually pouting at her.
    Groaning, Angela nudged him in the side. “Now you need to relax. Don’t make me tickle you happy, because I seem to remember you’re pretty susceptible to that sort of thing.”
    â€œI’ve lost my touch.” He sighed dramatically, taking another large, blended, coffee drink from the barista before putting a five-dollar bill into the tip cup. “It used to be, when I pouted and got all sad, I got all kinds of ego-patting attention. Not tickle threats.”
    Angela poured herself a glass of water from a nearby