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@adrianwright-blog
“Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“Good, because there were ah, they were all out of chocolate, so, you know--- rocky road was all I could grab. Not as good, but... yeah,” Adrian let out a soft laugh, and shrugged the shoulder of his coat back from where it had fallen around his arm in shabby fashion, “Ice-cream’s ice-cream, right?”
Various unconnected puzzle pieces from the last five years slowly began to join together. Patterns, unrecognized feelings, and obliviosity slowly formulate an equation, that perhaps her thoughts and feelings on her ‘best friend’ where something far more developed than once thought. It was always there, in the back of her mind, but Alma was too god damn naive to realise it. The sensation, overcomes her senses on a level she’d never experienced, so an already empty stomach begins to churn; one more awkward moment away from pushing on her heels and heading to the safety of anywhere but this bedroom. What was worse, how was Alma going to tell this to Adrian after what she just read? Alma had only ever held once secret from the man, currently covered by a strategically choiced t-shirt, and never planned to do so again… But perhaps Alma couldn’t exactly set herself up for disappointment unveiling hidden truths if she didn’t understand what she wanted… But it didn’t take a genius to realise things weren’t going to be the same between them whether she did or not. ❛ Enough…
Both bashful and ashamed, Adrian bowed his head. Hair, a large brown mop of curls, fell in front his face like a heavy curtain calling intermission. She knew, without a doubt. She knew. At the affirmation, his stomach dropped to new depths, a hole dug just to bear it’s huddled retreat. “I was going to tell you... I just... I didn’t know--- I didn’t know what to say. It was... before you got here, and I--- I don't know...”
❛ I shou— Alma fumbles over her words, arms wrapping gently across her chest as if she was prepared to let her uneasiness swallow her whole. ❛ That’s your private stuff… I don’t know why I did that. —shut up alma! How was she ever going to possibly explain what ever possessed her to read a letter clearly not written for her eyes, &&. why she reacted so harshly towards him for it. Course breaths escape cracked lips, she restrains anymore excuses, whilst trying to ignore the deep pressure building between her ribs. ❛ I didn’t know…
Adrian let her words settle into the silence as he tried to take hold of his own tumbling thoughts. His brow furrowed deeper in the effort. Then, on a turn of his heel, he decided on action; with speed---not grace---he moved across the room, shoving Kate’s letter back into the drawer where it had once been hidden undisturbed. From his grasp he released it as if it were poison to the touch, recoiling back into his freedom. Though, calling it poison was not quite fair, because poison could be healed, poison had its antidotes---and what antidotes was there for this? For a piece of paper, crumpled between two stacks of t-shirts, which caused a heart to ache with tremendous quakes just on sight, on hold? What fix was there? The answer Adrian had settled upon long ago was none. He was to suffer as he must, the pain not too large to weigh his smile at all hours, but now Alma knew and for some reason---that changed things.
His eyes, coloured of a warm but saddening dawn, dashed about the room, unwilling to meet hers, “How---... How much of it did you read?”
The last thing Alma wanted to do was come off as rude, especially to Adrian. Anyone but Adrian. Watching his confusion and concern grow, Alma let her body shoulder curl in. Sheshouldn’t of picked up the letter in the first place, it was none of her business. When Adrian came in, Alma tried to stash the evidence, no doubt he could see the piece of paper lying on the floor behind her. Left undated, Alma she guessed the letter was at least a year old, given Kate had been in a relationship with Alethia for that amount of time. It was a feeling Alma had never experienced, a form of jealousy or envy. A concept so foreign Alma struggled to come to terms with her emotions. That Adrian, her best friend, had loved someone. Maybe still did. Why did this bother her so much? Better question, why did it bring out this new side of her? ❛ —That was mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry…
Adrian stood dumbfounded, eyes moving slowly from Alma, to the letter on the ground behind her feet. Back and forth his eyes raked before he tried his stumble at words, “No, that’s ah... Did you? -- That’s...” That was his letter, that was the letter, the one he had never found the courage to destroy --- heart too interwound with the ink. That was Kate’s letter. Had Alma read it? Of course she had, he thought, brows furrowing. Why else would she be looking at him like that? Like the world had just shifted? “That’s nothing --- just,” Adrian hurried forward, dipping his eyes from hers, hastily grabbing the sheet. Though the parchment crinkled loudly in his grasp, he couldn’t hear it over the thumping of his chest, blood pulsing and crashing through his ears. He tried to reach for words, but nothing seemed to come. She wasn’t supposed to find out like this. He hadn’t know how he would tell her. But this wasn’t it.
Stock still, the crumpled declaration of a heart’s misery in hand though, it looked like he no longer had a choice in the matter, “... Alma, I ---”
danielradcliffedaily :
“Hey little train, wait for me…”
❛ Nothing to concern yourself about.
“I...uh...”
Closed || Adrian Wright
Appreciating the silence, Alma gaze stared absently in the direction of the door. It was over. The flood that pushed past the strained flood gates had passed. Yet the subtle numbness of reliving trauma didn’t seem to fade so easily. She took his hand, rising from the bed and steadying herself onto her feet. “Anywhere, show me your favourite places.”
Once Alma took her footing, Adrian’s hand fell back to his hip, wearing a breath of warmth separate from his own pulsing heart. He looked about the room tentatively, thinking, trying not to picture the breaking scar scrawled up and along her back. “My favourite places?” He asked in echo, “Ah, sure-- yeah. There’s a nice trail along the shore... We could do that, maybe? It’s a nice way to see the island. It’s super beautiful. Then maybe, I don’t know, the record store? That place is pretty sick. Uh, I just--” Adrian looked down, letting lose an embarrassed, dampened chuckle, “--I need to grab some shoes first.”
Alma’s grin beamed at the familiar sight, walking behind her best friend as she pulled out of the cafe next the to hotel in which they stayed. Skateboard, headphones, all trademark signs of Adrian Wright. Unaware of the trepidation that was plaguing his mind, Alma associated this with him being happy to be home. She pushed on her heels and ran, leaped off her feet and let her arms wrap around his arms from behind, making sure not to push too much weight onto him so suddenly, just enough to give him a surprise. Alma pulled one headphone away from his ear. “Earth to Adrian, can you hear anything with those things on?”
In the first moments (Never having been one to take surprises with poise), Adrian’s heart jumped straight out his chest, “Holy sh----!” He exclaimed, but just as quickly as the fright had come, it left. Her voice seeped through blaring chords, and angst ridden vocals with an appreciable ease; like honey in warm tea, Adrian thought. “---Alma,” He dropped his head, a light chuckle directed at worn-down converse. “God, you just gave me a heart attack, you know that?” And he smiled regardless, moving the headphones down around his neck, silencing the song in favour her company, “I uh-- I guess not, no. They’re noise cancelling... so, ah... Yeah. Not a thing, really. What--what are you doing out here?”
Unaware of the new body in presence, Adrian turned the music up until the bass vibrated his bones, rendered his senses numb. He was a good kid, golden in fact, and had been his whole life. He followed the rules, respected his elders, did his homework---- all without a shred of contempt. The perfect poster child. His delinquency file would be practically nonexistent, were it not for the plethora of noise complaints he accumulated. Notes ranging from mild disgruntlement to full blown vex, it seemed neighbours, roommates and relatives alike, did not take kindly to what seemed Adrian’s only coping mechanism against the corrosion of self-doubt. A method he now took in practice, back home in New York, as his bones shook with increasing demand.
“Green will do,” Alethia confirmed. And even when her face did not show bitterness anymore, she didn’t offer him a smile. Not externally at least, she had to bit her lip not to smirk at his stumbling words. I make him nervous, she thought. Through her life, the artist hadn’t been in control of a lot of things. And the idea of having this kind of effect on him pleased her… more than she’d let out loud.
“I guess I’ll take care of the table meanwhile?”
“Green,” Adrian echoed as his mind reeled anxiously past the retrieval of tea, grasping for handholds not yet there, like, what he would say when he sat back down. Should he pass her the cup, or set it down in the middle of the table for her to take on her own accord? Should he say anything at all? Whistle a tune? “---Ow!--mother-shitting shit!” He hissed, dancing franticly about, hot water splashed generously into his open palm. Adrian, if anything, was far from thick-skinned. And, once the flash of pain subsided, eyes were trained steadfast forward, not daring to look back in Alethia’s direction, sheepish of the childlike display.
Everything settled, save his thumping heart, and Adrian returned to the scene, setting her steeping tea past the middle of the table, easy to reach. A moment of awkward pause preceded his taking the adjacent seat. Had she been joking about wanting his company? He certainly wouldn’t blame her if she had. More often than not nowadays, even he didn’t want his company, “I, ah... I used to love green tea as a kid... I mean, now I’m more of a... cinnamon kind of guy, but still...”
I may think of you softly from time to time. But I’ll cut off my hand before I ever reach for you again.
Arthur Miller, The Crucible (via wordsnquotes)
Michael and Isabelle’s wedding
Just that day Alethia had been rejected from three potential jobs, her short resume not helping her case, as well as the tattoos that crawled under her clothes. She was not about to change who she was, but she was constantly reminded that the world asked her to. And in front of her stood the perfect boy, clean clothes, smart eyes, a college title for sure. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying. I don’t want your coffee, ” she said. Standing up, she retrieved the wrinkled page and shoved it into her pocket.
Once they were eye level, Alethia felt her pulse slowing down. He wasn’t that tall and unreachable now. And no one said she couldn’t be the nice(ish) one for once. “But a tea will do, I guess,” she murmured finally.
Adrian recoiled beneath the sting of rejection, nodding his head nonetheless. He had kissed her girlfriend, his ex-girlfriend, coffee couldn’t mend that wound. Maybe nothing would.
Yet, just as he had taken to leave in dejection, Alethia’s voice came again. So unassuming was the sound, Adrian almost mistook it for the trickery of his own mind. Were it not for her gaze, holding his, he would have ignored the invitation all together. Foolishly, he stumbled over his words, “What? Oh, Right.. um, tea. Sure. Sure, I can do that. Yeah. Ah -- Green’s okay?”
