Slow Suicide

[eastbaychaser]

    “That’s it?” Anna pressed. Robby faltered at his boss’s question. “Also, I’ll have to talk to Julie too. You really need to be working on your own projects more. She shouldn’t have even asked you to help her.”

    Robby felt his smile harder to maintain. “Thanks again for the meeting Anna. I’ll try to keep my priorities lined up with yours.”

    “Good. I’m moving our next meeting up. Deliver something next week and present it to me.”

    Robby had just finished college and moved to San Francisco two months ago for a promising job as a programmer. The move was hard—he left the midwest for the first time, dropped into a terrifyingly expensive city, started a new job, and was forced to end things with his boyfriend Steven, who had refused to move with him. Robby’s excitement quickly faded after he started his job. The work was trivial, both easy and inconsequential.

    “I’ll have something to present, Anna.” Robby felt no motivation. He left the meeting, walked to the elevator, and left the office.

***

    “I think I’m depressed.” Robby’s voice cracked. The sentence felt heavy, and took a surprising amount of effort to lift it out of his chest. Robby sat in his doctor’s office with a needle in his arm. His blood slowly filled little glass tubes, each with their own label, bearing Robby’s name and the name of the test being run. Syphilis, Hepatitis C, HIV. There were others tubes nearby with swabs of Robby’s throat. He still felt scratchy.

    The doctor finished filling the last vial, capped it, and pulled the needle out of Robby’s arm. “Hold this,” he instructed as he placed a cotton ball over the wound. Robby obliged. “The city can be lonely. You’ll make friends soon enough.” He pulled his latex glove off with a quick snap and tossed it into the bin. “Well the rapid HIV test came back negative. I’ll call in your refill for PrEP.” He stood, studied his watch, gave Robby a cursory nod, and started for the door.

    Robby jolted, reaching towards the doctor, but hesitated. He withdrew his hand and instead rose to walk out of the office. He drove home without his seatbelt on.

***

    Maybe instead of getting on the train to work in the morning, I can jump in front of it. Robby’s fingers glided across his screen with practiced muscle memory. He dropped his phone on his bed next to him and waited. His studio was slightly more than a shoebox, but had been his pride and joy since he’d moved. He had been excited to live alone, and spent considerable time research decoration ideas online. His apartment now looked neglected. His plants were withering in pots of arid soil. His sheets had collected too much oil from his hair and face. His kitchen smelled of something he struggled to identify. Broccoli? Maybe.

    Robby waited on his bed for his phone to buzz. He was dressed to go to the gym, but he never made it out of his room. That’s not funny. Robby apologized, but got no further responses.

    He opened Grindr and browsed the photos. Nobody captivated him. He had a message. Thanks again for last weekend. It was fun. Robby replied that it was. It was a lie, and he couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, but Robby was finding it easier to just say what he’s supposed to say, rather than what he felt.

[CumWhore1983]

This is so sad :'(