In the time since Jude had last seen Rosa, heâd almost set his dorm on fire by nodding off with a lit spliff, crashed a car into a brick wall (intent behind this pending investigation) and received a rather squiggly stick ânâ poke of a dog with socked paws and an eggplant plump snout on his shoulder, âDOG IS GODâ scrawled finely above. The lettering was still subtly raised, red around the edges to match the rim of his blinks. Sketching arm cast and snug to his chest, Teddy had attempted to roll him his usual abundance with little help from Judeâs perfectionist backseat driving, fingers quaking enough that he couldnât help but squint in dismay for the entire process. Heâd still thanked Teddy for his assistance, though he couldnât help but eye the line of spliffs like they were a spider thumped relentlessly beneath an obnoxiously heavy bible, eight limbs splayed and crooked on a hardwood floor. He was out back, away from the partyâs hub, sat on a bench before a pond which had spawned a sizeable caviar stack of frogâs eggs beneath the shadow cast by a thicket of grass. There was a candle clumsily thumped onto a saucer besides him â a fine China plate heâd stolen from a cupboard by the sink â and wax dribbled like an incontinent member of the elderly while the flame swayed, about as graceless as Jude looked, all fractured and bruised, banana paper dangling from his mouth like an exotic jungle moth taken perch. Heâd spoken to Rosa, since the rooftop â little things, here and there â until suddenly, like a radio tossed into of a bathtub with itâs receptors fried, nothing. No signal, no communication. Then the crash, the swapping seats with a sober passenger, the shifting in a hospital bed as they asked him uncomfortable questions, each floating him up and further away. Forgive me for being frank, but you donât seem⊠affected by this. You donât seem to care that this could have been much worse. âAlright?â he greeted after a short delay, only realising someone had approached when he blinked upwards of the pond, gaging just a silhouette, at first â then, swift as a backhand to the face, Rosaâs name in his throat, not ready to leave his mouth but not willing to swallow and digest itself, either. His eyes drooped back to the pond, glimmering with the moon, so wet and silver he was half tempted to fish it out with a butterfly net and crack it open in a pan, suck the yolk to poison whatever sleeping werewolf he had living inside him. âCaught me doing my, uh⊠Dickens stroll of the grounds,â he referenced the candle besides him, suddenly sorry he wasnât wearing Edwardian pyjamas fit with a pompom tipped night cap, breezeless night doing wonders for the glowâs survival. Like some deity somewhere thought he ought to catch a break, swamp marsh of his brain considered, a no manâs land heâd entered and never returned from, feet firmly lodged and sinking. Engulfed all the way to his neck, his eyelids. âJust saw a fuckinâ⊠particularly handsome frog, leaping about in the reeds. Potential, uh⊠eyebrow lift, very striking. Member of the Hadid dynasty, âs my bet. Got any, uhâŠâ Stall. âFuckinâ⊠Dunno whatâs, uh⊠Chapstick?â he finished like his mind had stalled, a Nokia operating on a one bar network, eyes on the pond despite their usual obligation to watch her like heâd never watched anything else. There was an apology there, maybe, in his reluctance to acknowledge the need for one. Jude fumbled through these things with the long limbed awkwardness of a giant in a cottage with low ceilings, never particularly sure how to express anything, never sure if he even wanted to try. It felt like attempting fluency in a foreign language heâd never learned, sometimes. Being sincere about anything. Admitting he felt things. âMight, uh⊠Might pucker up. Kiss a fella back to his true form. Do my bit.â @excvlsiorâ
When sheâd been 10, Rosa had started to count. Time that passed by, how many days until her next birthday, the next Christmas - she was just so proud of herself for nailing the 8âČs time tables, it only felt appropriate. Just when sheâd run out of things to count, ways to keep an idle mind occupied, Sylvie had passed. Rosa was out of the phase now, didnât really keep track of things like that anymore, but she knew it was 4108 days since Sylvie wasnât her best friend. Even if she didnât think of it like that - wasnât that the way the world viewed it? Out of sight, out of mind had never been a phrase she liked anymore because of it. Itâd been 593 days since Tatiana, and the only way she could handle that number was by reasoning it was nothing compared to 4108. It was okay, to count those days still. Sheâd told a therapist once that she liked to count the days since her Big Two - a title said therapist used to refer to Sylvie and Tatiana, so Rosa knew right away she wouldnât get along with her - and sheâd said it was time to move on, drop the numbers. Rosa never saw her again. Sheâd also been a bit too aggressive about Rosaâs romantic past, one thatâd been nonexistent up until that point. Thereâd be a party thrown in the waiting lobby if she found out Rosa had subconsciously started counting the days since Jude had last sent her an oddly placed but still endearing text - endearing because any text from Jude meant he was thinking of Rosa, even if his communication skills lacked a certain affection. His attention alone was affection enough - itâd taken Rosa a long time to learn that. But then the affection in the form of a picture of a Dorito chip heâd named Borg ended and suddenly five days had gone by and Rosa was painfully aware of it. She didnât want to be - it actually embarrassed her a bit, that she was - but it seemed now, that she was more attached than sheâd like to admit. More attached than she even knew. Two days later, on the seventh day, a rumour mill had started. Unintentionally - Teddy had always been a bit of a blabber mouth (a thought she had in private, using the more appropriate term gossip in the face of Lana and the like), and it proved so after his fifth or sixth shot at dollar beer night earlier in the week, going on about how he drew the biggest smiley face possible on Judeâs cast. Rosa had attempted to text Jude again after that, the keyword again enough to prove that she had, in fact, grown overly fond, but her rumours of a broken arm and car crash going on? can i come visit, make sure ur ok? went without a response. It simultaneously switched from the front and back of her mind for the rest of the week, both incapable of letting go of Jude and if he was okay, where they stood, and refusing to acknowledge it at all. There was nothing Rosa ever wanted to face, even if it seemed like she enjoyed placing the weight of the world on her shoulders. By the 11th day, she was at a party with Lana and Freya, forgetting any issues because thatâs what parties were for - forgetting, having fun, drinking, the sort. And yet the second someone complained about how Jude had bumped into them, knocked their drink out of their hand onto their white shirt on his way to the backyard, Rosa was tossing back the shot Lana had handed to her, ready to go, grasping onto two ciderâs sheâd brought with her as she exited. Judeâs silhouette could be seen from the back door, and it made Rosaâs heart leap into her throat - in this moment, she was the most exasperating person she knew, âCor,â she said in response to Judeâs greeting. It made no sense, didnât fit into their conversation at all given the context of the word, but sheâd been saying it since her sudden infatuation with it after Judeâd blurted it before making their way onto the rooftop. Rosa wasnât listening, when Jude went on about Dickens, frogs, Chapstick - her eyes strayed away from his face, but she still ventured to the farther side of the bench to see if what sheâd heard was true, cast coming into view and finally easing away any nervous curiosity. Or making it worse - she couldnât tell yet, âHad to see - Iâm nosey, and you didnât text me back,â Rosa didnât mean for it to sound like a jab, but it did anyway, usual bluntness making it sound like she was purposely pushing when for the most part, she wanted to avoid, âUh, no Chapstick - Iâve got lipstick, if that works. More flirty,â sheâd never worn it much before, when Lana did her makeup maybe, but otherwise had never found a shade she was particularly fond of. Now, she wore something barely there, more tinted lip balm than lipstick, but the plum tint was obvious enough she wouldnât have to insist there was some on, âHere,â The bottle of cider held out towards Jude was almost aggressive - she was suddenly far too embarrassed by her vulnerable nicety to present the drink with any eloquence, âHope Iâm not imposing on your time. Anymore of your time - I know how to take a hint, but. Yâknow, I do worry. My heart has grown three sizes as of late, I couldnât help it. Even before I heard about,â Gesturing to his battered arm, âI wasnât sure if it was true. Some girls in class were talking about it - do you know a Dinah? She heard it from Teddy. I heard it from Teddy, the next day. Heâs very chatty,â Taking a step forward, Rosa almost considered sitting down beside Jude, blabbering on for so long she forgot that maybe she wasnât wanted, âI want to sign your cast. If youâll let me. Iâve always wanted to. I did give you one of my drinks, Jude - Iâm officially blackmailing you into it now,â Rosaâs tone was teasing, automatically falling back into the way sheâd usually talk to him, before remembering that she had reason to think she needed to walk on thin ice. Maybe that was dramatic - still, itâs all she could ponder over, about a thousand things on her mind weighing her tongue down like a pressor before a swab to the mouth. It was the alcohol, in the end, that had her carefully saying, âAre you okay?â Then, quickly, knowing Jude probably wouldnât want to talk about it despite the words slipping out because she couldnât stop herself, not with him, âLie, if you need to. Just had to ask.â