gotta finish tattoo fic this week if it’s the last thing I do… my next long fic plan is AMBITIOUS and I need to get started or I’ll never do it!!! can’t believe I’m actually going to do one with an outline instead of just making it up as I go 😱
There’s no one home and winter is fading, he’s allowed me onto his bed, and the thought makes me feel like a dog. I don’t hate that.
He doesn’t say anything, lying still beside me, dead weight. He’s on his back and I’m on my side, curled into him.
I’ve watched him breathe for a while, and he watches the ceiling. He never puts the tv on anymore, and never picks up his phone. ‘There’s nothing there anyway’ And I feel the same way. Nothing shines or excites anymore; the white ceiling might as well be an explosion to me.
I lift myself up on my forearms, resting my head on his chest and he doesn’t react to my doing so. I take it as permission. His eyes are shut as I trace the angle of his brow with my finger, down the arch of his nose and the valley of his cupid’s bow. I pause at the dimple in his chin, and drag my finger across his Adam’s apple. He swallows and I feel satisfied. He holds my hand then, tight with my finger still pointed, reaching.
“Did you hear me?” I know he did, I just want to hear him say it. He doesn’t say it, he only hums. He must feel me watching him, a habit he says I take up too regularly, he opens his eyes.
“What do you want me to say?”
I shrug, but it’s hard with my hand trapped in his. I don’t know why I find it so easy to touch him, but when he touches me back I feel like I’m being burned.
“I don’t know, anything.”
The silence stretches then.
“Anything.” He says, and I know he thinks he’s funny. So I laugh.
✦
When I first met Aaron, I had a lot to say, and no one to say it to.
I’d aways felt like I was moving faster than the world around me, I was unpleasant, displeased and unsatisfied. When I first stepped on a plane, I felt a fear stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. I think I’ll chase that feeling for the rest of my life. I made a promise to myself on that flight, my brother beside me, miles above the ground, that things would change. That I would change, tune myself into the world around me. That I’d find a calibre fitting with everything around me. That people would like me. I unravelled on that linoleum floor, my life in bags. With each step forward I felt myself falling away. My suitcases had burst open and spilled every vulnerable, naked part of myself onto the floor. I left it behind me, all of it, my uncles t shirts, my childhood teddy, pictures poster and CDs. Summers by the sea and winters nursing my mother. I looked over my shoulder at it and walked away. My bags felt lighter, but I felt heavier. They were stacked inside of me now, weighing on my chest, my ribs and lungs. I couldn’t put them down or pick them up. I felt full of everything. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel empty.
My brother didn’t seem to pause, so I didn’t either.
It began to build then; I’d pour myself onto pages and strings as I felt myself shake for a connection. When I met Aaron, I was on the precipice of a discovery, that more than anything, more than loving people, more than being loves, I wanted to be wanted. I wanted someone to look for me in the way sun hazed over rolling hills, in the run of water, in the turn of pages, in the ink still drying. I wanted someone to want as much as I did.
I have often been told that I am intense.
When I first met Aaron, I couldn’t see him for the crowd. I felt blinded by these people, their rough pushes and tooth chipping laughter. I fell into it, these uneasy friendships. I knew I was being made fun of, I knew when they laughed they were laughing at me, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I’d sit, hands twisted and ankles crossed under sticky tables and speak in my tripping accent and they would laugh. I’m ashamed of myself, for lapping so easily at their hand, drinking up attention like I was dying of thirst. They called my name and I ran, they could have told me to sit and roll over and I would have done so. They said jump and I was already leaping.
Aaron never opened his mouth; he never took his eyes off me. I didn’t notice him, not for a long time.
They took me out for the first time in early October, the nights got darker faster and the air bit. I don’t remember much, bar being in a stranger’s house. I felt inexplicably sad looking at the family photos, even sadder still at the lighter spots on the walls where some had been taken down. A statue of a king Charles spaniel had been knocked from a bookcase; the porcelain of its body crushed into the dirty carpet. I remember feeling sick then, and pushed my way through the hot boxed kitchen to the garden. It was quieter, but not by much. Someone had begun a bin fire in the middle of the brown grass. I sat far enough away that it didn’t warm me.
I sat on the patio step and found myself wishing for my brothers. Easy laughter had never come naturally to me, and more often than not I was in a bad mood. But somehow my brothers had a way of easing me into fun, they made things a bit more bearable. Maybe I’d have enjoyed myself more if they were there. There was a bottle of something in my hand, I didn’t know what it was, but I drank it anyway. I think I felt I was supposed to.
“You alright?” The voice came from my right, and I looked to see scruffy shoes with duct taped soles. I looked up to see Aaron. Maybe I was already a little drunk, but his height shocked me.
I nodded, not sure what my voice would sound like. He didn’t say anything else, my neck hurt from staring up at him, but I didn’t look away. I thought if I did he might disappear. No one had spoken to me all night. He sat down, spreading his legs and rolling his ankles. He leaned forward, easy, relaxed. I felt stupid, curled in on myself, tense and coiled compared to him.
Aaron glanced sidelong at me and held out a hand. I took a moment, blinking at him. Stupid.
“You gonna share?” He was smiling, and I realised I’d never really heard his voice before.
I nodded, and passed him the bottle from where I was clutching it like a lifeline. He drank from it, still smiling. He took a drag of a cigarette I didn’t realise he was holding. The smell was familiar, and I thought of my mother. I shook my head when he offered me it.
He held the tab in lax hands, dangling over his legs. I watched the dim light of it kindle and die with each smoke.
“Do you even speak?” He was smiling.
I nodded, and then spoke when he laughed. His laugh was sharp, it set my teeth on edge and pulled my stomach. I smiled.
“Yes. Yeah.” I remember how hot my face felt when my voice came out rough.
“Have you ever been to one of these before?” Aaron passed the bottle back to me, and I held it without drinking.
“No.” Suddenly I could only speak in one syllable. He hummed, and it was only when he looked away that I realised he hadn’t taken his eyes off of me the whole conversation. The thought made the bottle feel slippery in my hands, I wasn’t used to being watched.
“I’m not-“ I didn’t even realise I had opened my mouth. “I’m not good at all… this.” I waved my hand towards the house.
“All what? House parties?” He knew what I meant; I think he just wanted me to talk.
I shrugged, and then laughed. “Yeah, I guess. Or, you know…” I trailed off, not sure where I was headed. My head hurt.
I glanced in his direction, and he was looking at me again.
“Yeah,” His voice was almost too quiet to hear over the thrum of the party behind us. “I’m no good at this shit either.”
I was about to contradict him when he stood suddenly. Maybe it was the alcohol, but the action made my head spin. Aaron brushed off his jeans and put the cigarette in his mouth.
“Wanna ditch?” He said around the tab. Aaron held out his hand to help me up. I didn’t know what ditch meant then, my English still rough around the edges. But I knew he was asking something of me, and I felt the urge to please him. I looked at his hand and saw an olive branch. The party howled through the night, the house a tomb of strobe lights and drunk laughter. I felt sick.
I took his hand.
“Okay.”
✦
It’s been days since I talked to my brothers, and it’s been months since he talked to his. I’ve been living on nods and shakes for the past week and my world has become closed doors. In a sea of closed doors, I can’t begin to think of him as a key or an opening. He’s a crowbar or a blunt object, something to force rather than pry. He’s a voice telling me to hide the knife better, rather than get rid of it. He hasn’t asked me why I haven’t picked up the phone, and I haven’t asked him why nobody has called him. We work better this way.
✦
It began like that, and continued much in the same way. Lonely parties, cold steps and Aaron. I felt a fast attraction, something magnetic, like I’d never felt before. Everything I saw of Aaron left me hungry, starving. I don’t suppose it was a crush then, but an intensity that I wasn’t familiar with. I looked for him in every crowd, at every table, in every conversation. He was different from me, his laugh was sharp and rare, like chipping flint or a spark against lighter fluid. When I first heard it I knew I’d do anything to hear it again. Soon it was me that sat by his side at lunch, stood at his elbow in a group. When you looked for Aaron, you wouldn’t find me far behind.
Looking back, I know I was desperate. I’d been begging for attention my entire life, scared of a connection but dying for it. I found it in Aaron that night on the patio steps, and it fostered a feeling in me. It made me feel powerful. It made me feel that maybe, maybe, someone might want me the way I wanted them. That Aaron might look for me like I looked for him.
When Aaron first let me into his home, I must have fallen in love with him. We had become ensnared, intertwined, until suddenly there was an ‘us’. That ‘us’ forced a ‘them’. I felt Aaron turning his shoulder to his friends, eclipsing me with himself from the blinding light of parties and fake laughter. I was shadowed by him and encouraged it. Lets go somewhere, just us, no one else.
So, he brought me home.
It was haunted. The last house on the street, it had no gate. The paint peeled, the windows were opaque, and the grass was dead. The building was bleeding and it made me think of home. When it was just me and my mother and I was scared to go upstairs, scared of her room and of the light left on in the kitchen. I used to cling to her skirt, beg her to come to bed with me, to sleep beside me to please please not leave me alone up there. Other times I would hold her hand, standing beside her bed, and beg her to move. To say something, to do something, to feed me or hold me. She’d rot there and my house would bleed.
Things got better for me, they clearly hadn’t for Aaron.
He led me through the dim hall and to the living room. I learned it was just him and his brother, his dad was around but infrequently. Aaron seemed to prefer when his dad wasn’t home. He left for his room, telling me it was a dump and to hold on for a few minutes. I felt that same sickly feeling as I did when I was a child, alone in a haunted house. There was a picture on the mantel piece, and nothing else. She was young and blonde. Thin with a sickly pallor, or maybe it was just the lighting. The way she stared through the picture, directly at me, made me shiver. She wasn’t smiling. She made me think of my own mother. I missed her then.
“That’s my mam.” I hadn’t heard him come downstairs, and his voice made me jump.
I didn’t say anything, knowing whatever came out of my mouth would be wrong.
“What’s her name?” I knew she was dead, from the stained carpet and the holes in Aaron’s shoes. There were no other pictures in the room, only hers. I felt like I was defacing her grave, standing here in her home and asking for her name.
“Siobhán.” He grimaced when he said it, like the name left a bad taste in his mouth. I looked back at her picture and saw Aaron.
His room has stayed the same since that day, plaid blankets and blue walls. The window didn’t close properly but Aaron said he liked the breeze. I’ve sat on his bed hundreds of times since then, but I still remember the first time. It was the beginning of November, and the sun was already bleeding away behind the blinds. My hands were cold, I wondered if Aaron’s were too.
Dog eared pages, half-finished cans and flashing video screens.
I talked a lot, and Aaron says he doesn’t understand me. I asked if it’s the accent and he shook his head. He lit a cigarette and held it. I think he’s too young for it. No, he said, it’s just you.
He leaned back on the headboard. Unchecked messages, front door unlocked. He makes to pass me the cigarette and keeps holding it out when I refuse. I take it, unsure what to do. “Bring it to your lips.” His voice is hushed, and it makes me nervous. I do so, and breathe in. It catches in my throat, but I can’t tell if it’s the smoke or the way he’s looking at me. He laughs, but its barely a whisper, and tells me to try again.
He holds a hand under my chin and looks at me through the smoke. I blow it in his face, like he has done to me time and time before. He wrinkled his nose, and I wanted to kiss him. I didn’t. I knew his friends, I knew him. I knew better than to reveal that part of myself, that had somehow, throughout the months, become buried. Aaron looked down at my lips, and back up to catch my eye. I wonder what he saw, in the next moment he suggested I head home. The air was still thick with smoke and something I didn’t understand, my hands were warm.
I walked home long after the sun had set.
Boots crunching frost, limp leaves and warm hands.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
✦
The worst thing is that he loves me more than anyone, when he holds my hand and kisses me so hard it hurts. He’s desperate for me in a way that scares me, in a way no one has before, but I don’t think he cares for me.
If I was a better person, I wouldn’t love someone who couldn’t love me back. But time has proven I am my mother’s son.
He says something, maybe about going home, but I don’t listen. I pull my hand from his and press it to his chest, drawing myself on top of him as best I can. His hand moves from the air to the skin above my pants, holding my hip. I don’t feel anything at the touch. I’m as tall as he is, so I draw my legs up to pretend I’m smaller.
He makes a noise that I feel myself laugh at, before he rolls us over. I’m buried deep in tattered pillows and tired sheets, under him. I wind my arms around his neck, and he falls atop me. Our bodies are different, his heavier and mine weedier, but we fit together imperfectly. He knocks the air from me without any of the feeling.
He reaches a hand up and brushes it through my hair, tugging at the curls at the nape of my neck. I sigh but from no pleasure or ease. I’m so tired.
He kisses me again, soft enough to make me miss the way his lips had bruised mine the night before. I feel unsteady like this, uncharted.
We lock eyes, but neither of us can maintain it.
“When are you going home?”
Are you bored?
“Soon. Just give me a minute.”
He doesn’t say anything, only waits for me to drag myself from under him. He doesn’t watch me go. I feel poisonous.
✦
When we first kissed, the first snow had already fallen and winter was well under way. We were ditching friends, leaving behind loud tomb rooms for unwalked paths. We left our bikes by chain link fences and passed no trespass signs. We walked river fronts and he shoved snow down my jacket, I laughed easily. The evening grew closer and Aaron told me his fingers were numb. I took his hands in mine and rubbed them between my palms. I felt brave, and didn’t pull away until he did.
There was a gathering at the beach, and for the first time I asked Aaron if we could go. He looked at me confused, and asked if I still hated all that stuff. I shrugged and told him I loved the sea. We went. There was the smell of an open fire, of wood burning and sweet nights. We drank to keep warm, and smoked to stave off the chill air, we hid in caves from the wind. Someone ran into the sea, and others joined them. I was drunk, and giddy from a second hand high. My head was spinning. I stripped off my jacket, and then my shirt.
"What the hell are you doing?" Aaron seemed distressed, and I laughed at the crease in his brow. I took off my shoes and laid them neatly side by side.
'I'm going to go swimming." | couldn't hear my own voice, but my tongue was heavy in my mouth.
"You'll die." I unbuckled my pants and stood in front of him, almost naked and freezing.
"Maybe," He was sat before me, leant back on his elbows to look me in the eye. I think of when we first met. "You coming?"
He shook his head, mouth agape.
Suit yourself, I told him, and took off down the beach. I was aware dimly of whooping from the bonfire, and of Aaron following me, calling my name. Impulsivity was my vice.
The first punch of water around my knees almost took me to the ground. I waded as deep as my thighs, my skin pricked and numb. I turned around and saw Aaron standing by the water, my jacket in his hand. He cupped a hand to his mouth to call me back and I smiled at him, before diving.
The sky and the sea were the same colour, the night leaving whisps of moonlight on the surface. I chased them, spinning in the water to watch my hand skate through them.
I thought of how many people had died doing this. I thought of my uncle. Of red and blue lights and a call gone to voicemail. Leave a message after the tone. My chest felt tight, and when I broke the surface, I still couldn't breathe. I saw a snowflake land on the back of my hand, I couldn't feel it. Heavy arms and blueish feet. I saw Aaron, backlit by the fire, holding out his hand. I felt scared then, the dark horizon seemed too close, and I seemed too far. It would drag me down, past moon beams and past fire reflections.
I called out for him, afraid. Aaron waded up to his ankles and didn't seem to care for the cold. I crawled through the water to him; my legs lead and frozen at the joints. He came closer to meet me and wrapped me in my jacket before pulling me into his arms. He said something, but I didn't hear him over the chatter of my teeth. I pulled on his sleeve, and he leaned down to listen. He was only a few inches taller.
"Take me home. Please."
He nodded, grip tight on my bare arms, and led me away from that gaping sea.
I don't remember the bus ride back, just the feeling of myself curled around his arm and his jacket over mine.
“I don't remember where you live," he said, leading me up his front garden.
"Neither do I.” I laughed, and he cracked a smile for the first time since I stepped into the sea.
His brother was home, and he laughed when he saw me.
"Jesus, Aaron, I thought you said you were looking after this'in." I wasn't aware of much, only that I didn't like Aaron’s brother. I couldn't remember why, but I saw purple bruises behind my eyelids. I grumbled at him, and he laughed again.
Aaron ushered me upstairs, his hand light on my back when I tripped and staggered. He led me to the bathroom, and I dry heaved into the toilet until I began to shiver. Aaron dried my hair with a towel, careful around my ears and gentle along my scalp.
Warm beds and soft towels. Aaron tugged off my shoes and helped me out of my shirt, I swayed on the end of his bed as he eased one of his hoodies over my head. I was wearing all of his clothes, two pairs of his socks and joggers with the drawstrings tied twice. He commented on how thin I was, but more out of looking for something to say.
He lay down beside me, pulled close in a mess of towels and blankets. I could hardly see him, my eyes heavy lidded from drink and cold. I drew my hand out of the pile of fabric, and pressed it to his face, dancing fingers through his buzzed hair. He didn’t stop me, only watched me. His eyelashes were blond, I hadn’t noticed that before.
I didn’t have to lean far to kiss him, tilting my chin until the tips of our noses brushed. I could still see him, his eyes crossed and his face blurred. I kissed him with chapped lips and a bad taste in my mouth, and I felt him freeze.
“Sorry.” I said, my eyes closed and voice a sigh. “‘m sorry.”
I didn’t see him move, but felt the bed as he leaned up on his elbows. I felt sick and brought my knees to my chest. I’d ruined it. I’d ruined all of it. Sorry. So sorry.
There was nothing for a moment, but shame in my stomach and my head on his pillow. The brush of his fingers on my cheekbone startled me, but I didn’t dare open my eyes.
He held my face, his hands warmer than my cheek, and kissed me back. There was no movement, just the slow press of dry lips. He was better at it than I was, I fisted my hand into his hoodie to pull him closer. He licked his lips and kissed me again. I’d never been kissed before. We broke apart with a yawn. Aaron’s breath was still hot on my lips.
“Do you hate me?” I must have asked. He shook his head, and his nose brushed mine side to side.
“No.” His voice was just a breath I felt in time with my own. He lay back down and I pushed myself into his chest, my teeth were chattering and his hand was in my hair. I tucked my head under his chin, pushed my legs between his and hooked our ankles together. He held me, his breath short and his grip tight.
I didn’t say goodnight, asleep before the realisation hit me. I woke up with a headache and a smile.
✦
Last night I told him I hated who I was and everyone else did too, that I didn’t care what happened to me, that I wanted to disappear for good. He looked at me then. I didn’t see hate there, but I didn’t see much else either. He kissed me hard, his lips pressing mine against my teeth in a way that almost hurt, so I opened my mouth. I don’t know if he thought it might make me feel better, I doubt it. But it’s an easy enough distraction. And now we are here.
✦
I pretended for two weeks that I didn’t remember that night, until I kissed him again in the hallway of a stranger’s house. He didn’t seem mad that I lied, as when he kissed me back it was a force strong than any I’ve felt.
The winter faded, and Aaron and I began something new.
