Polarity | 1: Stranger

Max was lying in bed. He stared at the bedroom wall, at the darkness in front of him, with wide gray eyes. In his left hand he clutched a pair of scissors. Though exhaustion had a firm grip on him, so did terror. He couldn’t sleep. That would be the death of him. So his eyes fought to stay open, but with each minute that passed, it became harder to reopen them after a blink.
           The bedroom door moved with a soft creak. He froze. Nothing happened for what felt like an eternity, but then Cameron approached and stood beside the bed. Max prayed he wouldn’t notice that he was still awake and holding a weapon. A minute later and Cameron lifted the sheets, got into bed beside him. He could tell that he was staring at the back of his head.
           There was no doubt in Max’s mind that Cameron intended to kill him. He held his scissors tighter.
           It was now or never.

* * *

It was raining outside. The weather had been confusing as of late: some days it was snowing, others it was pouring. Whatever the case, Maxime Aleshire hadn’t seen the sun in several days. Though, to be fair, this was due more to his own reclusiveness than the weather in Boston. Day after day, he remained in his cramped apartment and concerned himself only with work. He drowned himself in work and music. One could, in simple terms, call him a workaholic. Whenever he grew sick of working, he would listen to more music. On rare occasion he’d leave his apartment, but this was usually reserved for when he needed groceries.
           “M"x"Can"hear"m"?”
           Maxime, or, as he preferred, Max, made money as a digital artist. He wasn’t too popular in his field, but he was managing to make a name for himself little by little. While he did commissions every other month, he preferred making illustrations of his own characters. The most popular of them was a female that he’d made a month ago, named Stacey. He’d named and based her off of his ex, Stacey Eichel, with whom he was still friends . . . Sort of. While she seemed to think of him as a friend, he had to admit that she didn’t mean all that much to him. It didn’t mean that he disliked her"only that he wasn’t the kind of guy to let go of a grudge. She’d hurt him by breaking up with him out of the blue that past New Year’s Eve. As much as he wanted to forgive and forget, he couldn’t.
           Perhaps, he thought, that was why he’d made a character of her; a lot of his characters went through hell at some point. In the case of Stacey, she was the lead in his current sub-project: a short indie horror game. Was he trying to “punish” her by utilizing the warped god-complex that he seemed to be developing? Most likely.
           “Micro"ne"Hel"o?”
           Max sighed. Boredom had washed over him, so he quietly stared at the thick curtain over his bedroom window. His life was too monotonous"too predictable. It had been over a week since he’d left the apartment, even longer since he’d showered. Besides the glow of his laptop screen, his bedroom was dark. At first he’d enjoyed his solitude, but now it was fast becoming dull.
           “Max?”
           The sound of Stacey buzzing in his ear snapped Max from his depressed thoughts. Only then did he remember that he was in a voice chat with her, because she’d pestered him into it.
           “Stace,” he replied with no enthusiasm, having to resist the urge to drop the call. He tried to tuck the loose strand of fluffy brown hair dangling in front of his face into the band of his headphones, but it only fell back down.
           “Oh, good,” she exclaimed in relief, “you can still hear me. Mittens stepped on my laptop’s microphone jack. You know how finicky this thing is.” As Max processed this explanation, he heard Stacey scold her cat. In that moment, he wished they were talking over the phone. That way he could’ve hung up on her and blamed it on “low battery”. But Stacey’s phone had no minutes, so she’d insisted they do a voice chat over Facebook instead.
           While Max lamented his misfortune, Stacey returned. Out of the blue she asked him, “Anyway, what have you been up to?”
           “Well, y’know,” he answered in a lazy, Australian-accented drawl. “The usual.”
           “Drawing in the dark?” The knowing sarcasm in her voice was thick.
           “That sounds about right.”
           Stacey huffed. “Max, come on. Life is passing you by. You should be doing more.”
           “Like what?” As he spoke, he made revisions to the dialogue of his game.
           “I don’t know, like . . . going outside? Interacting with people? Hell, I’d even accept you making a new friend online.”
           A loner at heart, Max was blunt in stating his opinion on the matter. “Overrated. I’m perfectly healthy right now. I’d like to keep it that way.”
           “Perfectly healthy? How many times have you talked to yourself in the past twenty-four hours? I mean, like, really had a conversation with yourself, out loud?” Before Max could respond (the answer was seventeen), she added, “If the answer is anything higher than zero, then I’d argue that you’re far from ‘healthy’, bud.”
           “Yeah, well, just because I’m my own best friend doesn’t mean that I’m mentally unhinged, Stace.”
           “You spent all of this morning ranting to me about how much you hate yourself.”
           Max considered that. “Touché.”
           “How about this? I dare you to hop onto Omegle right now.”
           “I’m a little busy.”
           “And stay on it until you make a friend.”
           Max couldn’t help but guffaw. “I’d sooner have gray hairs!”
           “With the way you live, I don’t doubt it,” she quipped. They shared a laugh, but for Max it was bittersweet. It made him think of before, when they were dating. She’d been his only social outlet. He left his apartment to see her. Now, without her, he’d become a complete recluse.
           Why did she break up with me? He found himself wondering. It was a familiar question in his mind. Was it because I wasn’t expressive enough? Although he had a chance to ask her now, he didn’t. He couldn’t. Asking stupid questions like that could ruin their friendship"the only one he had left. The anguish of uncertainty was better than being completely alone.
           A few minutes later and Stacey, wanting to go to sleep, ended the call. Max both enjoyed and despaired being left on his own for the rest of the night. Enjoyed, because he could listen to music and work without interruption. Despaired, because he didn’t feel like working anymore tonight.
           An hour went by with Max doing nothing but lounging in his chair. He’d never felt like he belonged in Boston, but breaking up with Stacey three months ago had only made that clearer. If he could, he knew he’d go back to Brisbane. Unfortunately, he sometimes struggled to pay rent for his apartment, so returning was a pipe dream. To make matters worse, his family was here. Why had they ever left Queensland? Why, of all places, had they moved to Boston? It was cold here, too cold for Max, even after nine years. Not only did that apply to the weather, but to the people as well. How did his parents cope?
           They must be more social than I am. Or at least mum must be; dad drinks too much to make friends.
           All of a sudden, Stacey’s dare forced itself into the forefront of his mind. “Hop onto Omegle right now and stay on it until you make a friend.”
           Ever since he first arrived in Boston, at age ten, Max had never been a social person. Somehow, though, fatigue always made him feel a little bit more open-minded.
           Nothing better to do, I reckon. So why not take Stacey up on her challenge?
           It was this line of thought that led him to Omegle. To no surprise, he regretted it immediately. Because he was on so late, the majority of strangers were either bots or horny men who started every conversation with “ASL?”
           He’d been skipping through people for thirty minutes when his hope started to dwindle. Right as he was about to give up, though, someone finally spoke like a normal person. “Hello?”
           The greeting caught Max by surprise. Butterflies formed in his stomach from sudden nervousness. “Hi,” he replied. Had he actually found someone to talk to here?
           “Are you a bot?”
           “Ha, not since I last checked.”
           “Oh, good.” After a pause, they then wrote, “So . . . ASL?” They concluded this question with a winking emoticon.
           Max stared at the screen in dull awe. Well, s**t. So much for that.
           Despite his urge to leave the conversation, he decided to wait for the stranger to leave first . . . but they didn’t. Instead, they typed something else.
           “Just kidding.” Then they admitted, “Sorry, I thought that might be a funny icebreaker. I’m not the best at talking to strangers.”
           “Neither am I, to be honest,” Max responded. Then, in a burst of positivity, he confessed, “I’m on here in the hopes of making a friend, but I haven’t found anyone who isn’t looking to bang me.”
           “Same here,” replied the stranger. “You’re the only person I’ve met in the past two hours who’s actually spoken to me like a human being.”
           Fair suck of the sav! Two hours? This bloke must have the patience of a saint!
           “Let’s be friends!” exclaimed the stranger with a smiling emote. “I know the point of this site is anonymity, but my name’s Cameron. What’s yours?”
           Seeing no harm in giving his name, as it was quite common, he answered, “Max.”
           “Nice to meet you, Max. What do you like to do?”
           “I make artwork. I’m a digital artist for hire.”
           “Cool! I’m a writer. My favorite genre is horror. I’m currently working on a novel.”
           “Funny, I’m working on a horror game right now.” The conversation seemed to have hit a dead-end, but to Max’s surprise, Cameron wasn’t about to let it end.
           “Really? What’s it about?”
           “It’s about a girl named Stacey. I haven’t quite figured out the plot yet.” He was being honest; besides the main character and a rough intro, he didn’t have much to work with. Writing interesting stories wasn’t a strong skill of his.
           Their conversation dragged on and on. The anti-social young man found himself growing more comfortable with every message. Before he knew it, it was well past two in the morning; he had to wonder how long he’d been talking with this stranger.
           There was something alluring about Cameron, but at the same time, something unsettling. Everything he said was what Max wanted to hear. It got to the point that someone could have convinced him that Cameron wasn’t real or that he knew everything about him.
           He discovered through the course of the conversation that they had a lot in common. For example, Cameron had also been an introvert. The difference was that Cameron had forced himself to go out and interact with others. Over time, he’d managed to turn himself into an extrovert.
           “Isn’t that exhausting?” Max asked him. “I mean, for me even having a conversation with over the phone is tiring.”
           “To be honest,” Cameron said, “I’ve never been happier.”
           Max let that sink in. With how worn out he felt, though, he knew taking in such wise wisdom would do him next to no good until he slept. So he told Cameron, “Listen, I’m knackered, mate. I need to get some sleep, but I’d like to talk with you again.”
           “I would, too,” Cameron answered. “This is the best conversation I’ve had in a while.”
           “I could add you on Facebook.”
           “I don’t have a Facebook profile. I’m not too comfortable using that site. Could we connect through text?”
           To Max, it was an odd jump to go from online networking to asking for his cellphone number. Because of his exhaustion, though, he didn’t puzzle over it for too long. If this was the only way to connect with Cameron again after he disconnected from this Omegle chat, then why not?
           What’s the worst that could happen?
           “Sure.”
           “Great! Here’s my number. Send me a text before you disconnect so I can make sure it works!” Shortly after, Cameron sent a phone number.
           Max shrugged off Cameron’s strange wording and pulled his cellphone out of the pocket of his shorts. With weary eyes he tapped the number into the contact box, then pressed the text bubble. When it came time to send a message, though, Max found himself hesitating.
           Something deep in the back of his mind told him not to do it. He was a distrusting person by nature.
           What if this winds up being a mistake? However, Max shook his head at his own thoughts. No, it’s time I get over this silly social paranoia. Cameron seems nice. Sure, I haven’t known him very long, but he’s a good guy. I can feel it. If I’m gonna open to up anyone, it might as well be him.
           So he wrote, “Hello? It’s Max,” and sent it as a text. He watched as Cameron disconnected from Omegle and then started writing him a text back.
           “Got you!” it read.
           Max stared at the message, a surge of uncertainty running through him. Okay, that’s . . . a bit strange. Even so, he decided not to read too much into it, despite the part of him screaming that he’d made a terrible mistake. Instead, he turned off his laptop and got ready for bed. His phone dinged after a minute or two, so he looked at it.
           “Are you going to sleep?” Cameron had asked.
           “Yeah,” Max replied, “you?”
           “Yeah.” There was a pause before Cameron wrote, “Man, look at us. We’ve only just met, but we talked until we fell asleep. This could be the start of something beautiful, Max.”
           The Aussie smiled, though he wasn’t sure what emotion caused it. Sure, he thought in awkward sardonicism, but didn’t reply to Cameron’s text.
           After plugging his phone into the wall and laying it on the floor, Max slid under the covers. He tried to sleep, but his mind kept racing over his conversation with the pleasant stranger.
           Was it right to trust him so fast? I’m usually more cautious than that . . . Oh, whatever. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Can’t have good things without a taking risks, can you? Who knows, maybe Cameron’s right: this could be the start of something beautiful.
           Ha. Too right. Shut up, ya twit.
           When he realized his eyes were wide open and staring at the wall, he closed them, but even that didn’t help. It took an hour for him to finally fall asleep. It didn’t help that his phone kept dinging through the night.