9. lie to me

warning: very brief mention of suicide.

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CHAPTER NINE

LIE TO ME

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Dmitri couldn't believe his eyes.

A wedding invitation. It was an actual fucking wedding invitation.

Who the fuck decides to get married at twenty four?

Deciding he was most probably seeing things, Dmitri went through the email once more, really taking in each word, processing them in his brain.

Wedding. In exactly a month. Holy shit.

There was nothing he could have been more indifferent about than weddings. They weren't good, they weren't bad. They were just there.

"Uh— can I have my Latte macchiato?"

Hastily swiping out of the app, he forced on a fake smile as he handed the teenager their coffee, nearly dropping it because of how distracted he was.

"What are you doing?" Trinh suddenly asked, his voice cutting through the thick air, a lot warmer than expected for mid-February. He reached out his finger to poke Dmitri's side, his green bracelet almost falling into the coffee that was lying on the counter. "Bitch. Stop ignoring me."

Rolling his eyes, Dmitri smacked Trinh's hand away, ignoring his fake cry of pain. "I'm not ignoring you, stupid," he hissed, placing a lid on the styrofoam cup and handing it to someone, not even bothering to look up to see what they looked like.

"Well, you're doing something," Trinh sang, peering into Dmitri's phone, his mouth opening dramatically as he read the email out loud. "Dear Dmitri, I hope— there's a fucking typo in this email, I love that— you're doing well. Etcetera, etcetera, ooh, a wedding! Isn't Silas one of your high school friends?"

Dmitri just nodded, pocketing his phone as he cleaned the counter with a cloth, clearing his space up a bit so that he could feel a little more put together during his next hour of work.

"It's weird, right? Getting married at twenty four? That's younger than you," he remarked, making a mental note that Trinh's birthday was in less than a week, six days to be exact. And he still hadn't bought him a gift. My presence at his party is a good enough gift.

Trinh shrugged, his chains and earrings glinting under the artificial light above him, so bright that Dmitri had to occassionally look away. "I mean, I'm nearly twenty six, Eden's twenty five— we have no plans of getting married. But then again, that's just us, I guess. Twenty four is young, but it's not that bad. I've seen worse," he confirmed, pushing his hair out of his face. "You got a text, by the way. When I was reading the email."

That was a shock to him, considering he rarely ever received texts from anyone other than Eden. And today was a Monday, meaning that she was at school. So there was no way that the text could have been from her.

"Did you read it?" he asked, pulling his phone back out of his pocket. "Actually, don't answer that."

Laughing, Trinh shook his head, looking like he was about to say something when his phone began to ring, a One Direction song blaring from the speakers of his phone. "Oh, it's my brother! Don't fuck shit up while I'm gone," he instructed, before sidling out of the counter and disappearing outside the shop.

The place was fairly empty, so Dmitri used that opportunity to check his phone, his vision slightly blurry as he opened up his phone. Oh no.

He couldn't afford to let his eyesight get worse than it already was. There was no way he was about to go to an appointment to get them checked, he just didn't have that kind of money right now.

The coffee shop barely paid anything, and the article writing paid him in installments, meaning that he didn't have much to work with. Definitely not enough to live as comfortably as he wished he could.

Eyes finally adjusting to his screen, Dmitri squinted, reading the message. And then, he read it again because holy fucking shit, that couldn't be right.

claire (therapy) -

Good morning, Dmitri! You haven't attended a session in over two weeks, just checking in to make sure you're well. Get back to me as soon as you can! :)

There was no way. Absolutely no way.

Right when Dmitri was about to type out a reply, maybe something along the lines of Sure, Claire, will try to come by next week!, a blatant lie but still better than him ghosting his own therapist, someone pulled out a chair and sat down in front of him, placing their phone on the table.

Tariq.

"Dmitri," he said, that one word enough to spark a flame within his chest. "Did you get the invitation?"

Why was he even talking to him?

They hadn't spoken to each other after their little... thing that had taken place two days ago— the one that included Dmitri having to cut his nails because he wouldn't stop digging them into his palms, Dmitri having to wake up in the middle of the night to rush to the bathroom and vomit because he was so nauseated, and so tired, and so unbelievably overwhelmed, Dmitri having to assure a very tired Eden that he was fine, that he wasn't falling apart because of his family, that he wasn't having thoughts that he just couldn't stop having, Dmitri having to assure himself that he wasn't going to spiral, that he was going to be fine.

Maybe he should have been getting back to his therapist, after all.

"Yeah," he replied blandly, handing Tariq his black coffee, as he did every morning. "Fucking wild. Silas is getting married."

Normal conversation felt unfamiliar, odd since their last conversation ended in them arguing. But then again, the two of them seemed to hit the rewind button every time they argued, never talking about the argument itself, just moving past it.

That part felt very familiar.

Tariq hummed. "At first, I was so fucking confused as to why Silas was getting married at twenty four, because holy shit, that's young," he remarked, wrinkling his nose as he took a sip of the coffee. "Man, that's disgusting. Anyway, I realised that he's getting married to the person he's been dating for like— six years? That's a long ass time."

"My coffee tastes fuckin' immaculate, fuck you."

Letting out a laugh that turned into a small cough, Tariq shook his head, taking a large gulp of his coffee. That definitely burnt his throat. "Is that all you got from that?" He sighed, scrunching up the sleeves of his t-shirt such that they reached his elbow, and holy shit, Dmitri was suddenly (and very painfully) reminded of how attractive Tariq really was.

Stop it. We despise Tariq. We can't stand Tariq. And there's a reason we despise him.

"You insult my coffee and it's on fucking sight," he stated, setting his phone down as he handed someone a slice of cake on a plate.

For a moment, there was complete silence from Tariq's end. Damn, is he just not going to reply? Assuming that he was just drinking his coffee, Dmitri placed another slice of cake on a plate and handed it to someone else, feeling the weight on his chest lift a little when they smiled at him as they accepted their plate.

Sometimes, that was all he needed.

"Dmitri?"

Attention snapping back to Tariq, Dmitri nodded, for once, thankful that Tariq was there to keep him company, because he really did not want to write another fucking article, especially when he couldn't read anything without his reading glasses.

Tariq frowned, sliding Dmitri's phone against the counter, and saying, "You should lock your phone before you leave it in random places."

Fuck. Oh fuck.

"Uh— did you read the message?" he asked, cursing himself for being so unbelievably stupid. The last thing that he needed was for Tariq to realise exactly how fucked up he had become.

Therapy didn't mean that he was fucked up. He knew that. He encouraged therapy, constantly told his students that they were perfectly normal if they went to therapy, because therapy didn't equal fucked up.

But him not showing up to therapy in over two months? That was what made him fucked up.

"Was a little hard not to, considering it was right in front of my eyes."

God, I know you're there. Please take me. Right now. Dmitri nodded slowly, placing his phone back into his pocket. "O-Okay, we'll just ignore—"

Before he could go any further, he was interrupted by Tariq, as he always was.

"I'm glad you decided to get therapy," he offered up, shrugging in total nonchalance, as if Dmitri's failing mental health wasn't one of the reasons that they had broken up. As if Tariq's constant pushiness for him to take care of himself wasn't another one of the reasons.

"Kind of had to, after I tried to kill myself and whatnot."

Only after the words left his mouth, did he realise what the fuck he had just said.

And there was no way he could take it back.

"What?" Tariq whispered, barely audible over the chatter in the shop. The room was full of people, almost all the tables were full, and yet, Dmitri had never felt more alone. "Dmitri, what?"

"Nothing." Oh my god. I take it back. I take it back. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Tariq didn't say anything to that, and Dmitri couldn't even tell what he was thinking, he couldn't make eye contact with him because if he did, he would have to talk about it, and that was the last thing that he wanted.

But soon, he was forced to look at Tariq when a small sniff was heard, along with a small, "Dmitri, what the fuck?"

Heart clenching in his chest to the point where it genuinely hurt to breathe, Dmitri lifted his eyes from the wooden floor and made eye contact with Tariq.

Seeing Tariq cry was always Dmitri's least favourite thing to do.

"I'm sorry," Tariq choked out, a loud sob escaping his mouth as he covered his eyes with one hand, his nose scrunching up. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Tariq wasn't the one who was supposed to be apologising, though.

That was a joke, Dmitri wanted to say, but he knew that there was no way Tariq would believe him, he was the last person to make a joke about something like that. So, he didn't say anything at all.

"Tell me you're kidding," Tariq mumbled, frantically wiping at his eyes and shaking his head. "Stupid. This is fucking stupid, I'm crying for absolutely no reason, right? Because that was a joke? You didn't actually— Dmitri, please just tell me that you're joking. Or lying. Or something. Even if you're not."

I can't do that. Or can I?

"I'm—" Kidding. Joking. Lying. Okay. "I'm sorry."

He didn't know if Tariq had heard him or not, because he just stood up from his seat, chair scraping against the ground as he got out, and left, disappearing up the stairs.

All he needed was one day of untainted happiness. That was all he was asking for.

"Why do you look like that?" Trinh's voice said, or didn't say, Dmitri couldn't tell over the blood roaring in his ears. Then, he placed a hand on Dmitri's shoulder, shaking it lightly and saying, "What's wrong? You look weird."

I fucked up.

"I need to go upstairs," he voiced out, all the words getting jumbled up in his brain. "Trinh. Can you hear me?" I don't know if my words are coming out right.

Trinh just stared at him, his eyes narrowing in blatant confusion. "Of course I can hear you, Dmitri," he said slowly, a weak laugh escaping his mouth. "Can you hear yourself?"

"I need to go upstairs," he repeated, unsure of what the fuck was coming out of his mouth. "Can I? Go upstairs?"

"Upstairs," Trinh echoed. "Where Tariq is. You want to go where Tariq is?"

Dmitri nodded, unable to say anything else. I made Tariq cry. I didn't mean to make him cry. "Yes. Please," he finally managed to say, ignoring his mind telling him that he was making everything worse.

If Trinh was still confused, he didn't say it. He just hummed, before saying, "Okay, you can go," and gesturing towards the stairs which led to the tattoo parlour upstairs.

Okay. Okay. Somehow, Dmitri managed to make his way up the stairs without falling apart as he climbed up, pausing before he pushed the door open. Can I do this?

Deciding that he should just suck it up, Dmitri pushed the door open, even though he barely knew what he was going to say to Tariq.

What he didn't expect to see was Tariq with his back facing the door, hunched over as he sobbed into his hands.

A lump was beginning to form in Dmitri's throat as well, the sight of Tariq crying was always enough to do that to him, but he forced his tears back in, all the way to the back so that they would never come out again, and said, "Tariq?"

"Fuck off," Tariq muttered back, his words drowning in his tears, voice thick, wavering. "Please. Fuck off."

"Ri— Tariq, can you just—"

"Fuck off, Dmitri," was all Tariq said through sobs that were small, but also loud at the same time. "I really, really don't want to talk to you right now. Or ever."

That one hurt. More than the usual hurt.

The usual hurt was a dull ache. This one was a knife to his chest.

"I'm—"

Before he could even get another word out, Tariq cut him off with a hoarse, "Leave, oh my god. I'm literally begging you to leave."

So, after shooting Tariq one last look, taking in his hunched over frame, his shaking shoulders, his painful-to-listen-to sobs, Dmitri left, closing the door behind him.

Everything hurt. So much.

And in an instant, the weight on his chest was back. And it was heavier than ever.

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AN: i love u guys a lot, thank u for reading❤️ have a good day today ❤️❤️