Do you know where your heart is?
They're 14, going to a party. In their world, you graduate 'high school' when you're 16, and you hit the legal drinking age at the average of 20, 17 in some areas. But parties are parties, and someone usually brings alcohol.
I like this piece. It was fun, he's stupid and can't hold his drink, and she's amazing and fun and a darling girl. Absolutely darling. We also begin to establish some rules of the 'voices', and oh.
Valerie. She, well, she's a character. You don't see much of her here, but trust me, she'll be back for more.
He dislikes parties, for numerous reasons.
He feels restless and trapped in the small rooms that he paces in, with the bodies pressed against each other from wall to wall. It is too close and contained, and the noise makes his head hurt at times.
Hours ago, he had argued with her about coming, but he knew it was futile from the moment she suggested it. She had set her mind on attending, and she could be horribly stubborn about the things she chose. And maybe she knew that he would not have let her go alone, but he had given in.
Maybe asking him to come with her was just a nicety. The thought is appreciated, still.
It does not make the ordeal any more enjoyable.
He does not know where she is, either- after they had arrived, they were greeted by Annabelle and several other girls that she knew. They had politely greeted him and then she was pulled away and she had told him that she would be back soon.
That was more than an hour ago. He had wandered from room to room in the time, and spoken a few words. He did not know many people here and many of the attendants were older than him. This was a party by her friends, and he was a stranger.
He makes his way to the kitchen, past the mingling forms in the dim light.
There is no music here- only the chatter of voices.
The kitchen is empty when he finds it. There is an array of alcohols and their respective bottles on the counter, but he passes them by. He rummages about the cabinets till he finds a glass, and fills it up with water. Douglas and his friends would go drinking, sometimes, when Father was not home and working late.
Father did not approve of alcohol. He suspected it had to do with Mother.
He drinks the water and wonders where Douglas is tonight, and how much longer
they will be here. The water comes as a cool relief to his throat. He forgot to tell Father when to expect him back. Maybe Father wouldn’t notice, again.
“What’re you drinking?” A girl’s voice from behind him.
“Just water,” He turns to face her in the under-lit kitchen. Her hair is wavy and golden and her face, though pretty, is not one he knows. She seems to be older than him, by a little. “Nice way to start the night off. Can’t live without it.”
“Oh, but you have so many other choices.” She smiles and walks up next to him to find a glass. “I mean, why just water?”
“It’s a start.” He He feels strangely clumsy and awkward around her. He’s never felt this way around Claire or her friends. Claire made him feel uncomfortable in a different way. “It lets me have a clear head. What are you drinking?”
“Something a bit more exciting than you.” She gives him another smile and turns to face him.
“Something more exciting than me? That sounds like an insult.”
“Not an insult; try something,” She cocks her head and edges closer. “Something more like a challenge.”
“I like challenges, sometimes. Not all the time.” He shrugs and watches her. He has learned many things from studying people carefully.
“Well,” She pours a golden liquid from a bottle and gives him another smile and raises her glass. “What about now?”
“I don’t know. I like to keep a clear head.” He isn’t sure what to do about her invitation. “Especially when I see someone like you.”
She tilts her head and rests her glass on his chest. “Someone like me?”
“Well, just.” He pauses and thinks of a proper response. “Someone as pretty as you.”
“My.” She pulls back and looks him over. “You’re a flatterer.”
“I can only speak the truth.”
“The truth and nothing else?” Her smile is arch and she rests her hand on his arm. There is a certain subterfuge to her question.
“Absolutely.” His unease grows and he wonders where Claire is. Hopefully, he could find her before this went anywhere. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
She tosses her hair and leans forward slightly and suddenly, the kitchen did not seem so large. Her breath is warm on his ear. “I’m Valerie. Who are you?”
“I’m Jacob.”
Where was she?
“So, Claire,” Annabelle sits herself down on the bed across from her and regards her intently. “What’s the story?”
“What story?” Annabelle had been giving her sidelong glances throughout the evening, when she was being introduced to the various people attending. Many of those were male, and they had smiled animatedly at her. They had retired to Annabelle’s bedroom afterwards.
She was used to being paraded about.
Annabelle sighs and shakes her head. “Don’t play dumb. I’m your best friend, right?”
“Yes.” She isn’t sure exactly what they’re getting at. They couldn’t possibly mean Father’s latest ‘acquaintance. Mother had called her ‘a young filly’ and left without a word. There was no way that they could know about that. “I’m just not exactly sure what you’re trying to get at.”
“Annabelle means that boy you always walk home with.” Carla remarks idly while primping her hair in the mirror. She the eldest girl here by two years, and they look to her wisdom with awe and respect. “What’s his name?”
“Jacob.” Jessica adds, running her hands through Claire’s hair. “I love your hair, Claire.”
“Really? It’s horrid in the mornings sometimes.”
“Ahem.” Annabelle clears her throat and gives a pointed look to Jessica. She has always been the leader among them. “We’re getting off topic here.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Claire- Jacob?”
“What about him?” She does not meet Annabelle’s gaze and focuses on pulling her hair back. “He’s just a friend.”
“Oh, just a friend?” Carla puts the makeup down and turns to look at her. “Don’t play that card.”
“He is!”
“Come on Claire,” Annabelle begins to fiddle with things on the dresser. “You’re not blind, are you?”
“No…” She has an uneasy feeling about the question. “Why?”
“You didn’t even give more than two seconds to any of the guys we met.” Jessica points out. “And trust me, some of those were pretty cute.”
“I wouldn’t say that they were that good looking,” She picks up a book from the bookshelf and browses through it. She really didn’t want to talk about this in front of them all. “Aren’t you and that Willard boy walking out with each other, Jessica?”
“His name is Will.” Jessica blushes and looks away. Willard was a new boy in their class- freckled and red headed and gangly; Claire did not understand Jessica’s attraction to him.
“I don’t see why you’d walk out with him.”
“To each her own.” Carla yawns and leans back glance at Claire. “Your boy is a looker, though.”
There is a chorus of agreement, but she does not answer and bites her lip. “He’s just a friend.”
“Come on- he’s always with you and he walks you everywhere and visits you and you might as well fess up. It’s sure as rain.” Carla gives her a languid stare. “It’s pretty obvious you’re not just friends.”
“I don’t see why you’re making this difficult, Claire.” Annabelle shakes he head and begins to toy with the things on the dresser. “I’d snap him up from you.”
“What are you saying?” She regrets her tone- it is too sharp and biting.
“That.” Annabelle smiles triumphantly. “You get prickly about him.”
“He’s just a friend.” There are other things that she does not say, and that she does not want to say with so many ears present. “Could we talk about something else, other than boys? It’s rather tiring.”
“Sure. How do you like the weather?” Annabelle sits down next to her, and gives her a look that speaks volumes. They will talk, later.
“Really now?”
“You wanted to change the subject. How about classes?”
“That’ll do.”
He finds himself pressed against someone else.
Someone who is very much female.
He opens his eyes and is suddenly aware of her lips pressed against his and her arms around his neck. He takes stock of his situation- her eyes are closed and his back is against the wall and his hands are at the small of her back. The room they are in is dim, and he can make out other forms around them.
She pulls back slowly, but her lips linger on his. Her breath is slow and she smiles at him. “Enough of a challenge for you?”
He does not know what to say or do.
She seems to ignore his silence and kisses him again, long and passionate. He carefully moves his hands away from her and gently pushes her away. She breaks the kiss and looks at him, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“I, I need something to drink.” His words sound muddled and thick to him. He smiles at her and she moves away from him. He makes his way, confused, through the crowd to the kitchen.
He runs the water from the sink and splashes the cool water on his face. It comes as a relief to his hot skin. He breathes deeply and focuses on the present.
He cannot remember how he got here.
There was a girl in the kitchen- what was her name? Valerie, maybe? They had talked, and she had made advances and then. They had left, and someone offered him a drink. It had burned down his throat and warmed him and made him feel giddy and lightheaded.
That was before, though.
He does not remember what happened shortly after he left the kitchen. He remembers yelling, loud voices yelling for something. He did not understand them in his memory and did not know where they had come from. He splashes more water on his face, and tries to clear his mind and checks the clock and stares for a moment.
He cannot remember the last half hour. Where there should be some recollection, unclear and vague, there is nothing. He couldn’t have had that much to drink. “What happened to you?”
The reflection in the window does not answer him and stares back unerringly.
His head is starting to hurt.
He sighs and clumsily finds a glass on the counter and fills it up with water. He is not sure what to tell the girl that he had just fled from or what to do at all. He cannot leave till he finds her, and he doesn’t even know where to start looking for her. He downs the contents of the glass and coughs violently as the liquid burns its way down his throat. Someone must have left their drink here. Lovely, just lovely. The night could not be any worse.
A crow lands next to him.
He glances up in confusion and surprise. It watches him with its yellow eyes.
Strange. But this is not something he needs now.
It hops toward him and he stumbles back into someone. “Careful!”
He turns around to see the girl, Valerie. “Hello.”
She smiles at him and leans in, her hands behind her back. He thinks that she might kiss him again, but she moves her lips against his ear. “You take too long.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. Something came up…” He does not finish his words before she pulls him in for a kiss. Her eyes are closed, thankfully. He tries desperately to think of how to get out of this and ignore her leg sliding against his.
It proves to be very difficult to focus.
Behind him, a glass is knocked over. The crow caws harshly and alights to his shoulder and looks at him.
He needs to find Claire and leave. Soon. He pulls back slightly, but she only tightens her arms around him. The blood is pounding in his ears now, and the crow laughs at him with that raucous sound.
She does not hear. He moves along her neck and she moans slightly. The crow watches and seems to smile, amused.
There is a strange pressure in his mind, and a sensation of falling. He hears a voice call his name, but she seems not to hear it.
Then a footstep.
And another. They echo in his mind, loud and close as they near in. The voices call his name, insistent and demanding. On his shoulder, the crow sounds again.
No- not now. Why now? He tries focus on the girl in front of him and the reality of the present- the taste of her lips, the soft skin of her cheek, the scent of her hair and the feeling of her fingers in his hair and the desperate wish that it was another’s face that he held.
Footsteps sound in the doorway.
The room around him begins to merge and blur and spin slowly, as if dangled on a string. Valerie’s features begin to darken and fade.
The crow hops next to his ear and begins to whisper. He knows the voice. It is calling and demanding and yelling and too loud. Too loud.
The figure in the doorway draws closer. That mask and those eyes.
He wishes, silently, that she was here.
Annabelle closes the door to her bedroom before she turns to look at her, green eyes stern. “Spill the water, now. We’re alone.”
Carla and Jessica had left to play in a game of Break the Straw. It was a strange game that she did not quite understand and played between boys and girls.
“I,” She hesitates and bites her lip, unsure. She is never sure with him and she isn’t sure how much to say. But it is Annabelle. “I don’t know.”
She sighs and sits down next to her on the bed. “What’s really up between you and him?”
“Exactly what I said- I don’t know.”
“I’m not getting what you mean, Claire.” Her brow is furrowed and confused.
“It’s just. I’ve known him for so long.” She smiles at the memory, fondly, when they had first met. She was puzzled by him, then, and thought him strange. The sentiment has changed little.
“Since you were children, right? How long has it been?”
“About nine years now.” That long of a time was what had complicated things. She knew him so well, and he knew her so well. “We practically grew up together.”
“But…?”
“Well,” She makes a face and tries to decide how to explain the matter. If she knew how to deal with it, she would. “It makes things complicated, sometimes. He’s like a brother to me, almost.”
“A brother who’s in love with you.” She throws her hands in the air and shakes her head. “He spends all his time with you, as far as I know. He follows you everywhere, and he’s good looking and he’s gracious and polite. I’ve never seen him without you- he’s always with you.”
“I know.” She sighs and tucks her knees under her chin and wonders if she should tell her the not so pleasant parts of Jacob’s past. He was always so guarded about his secrets. “It’s just. I don’t know.”
“Claire, I love you as a friend. But I also feel like telling you that you’re absolutely difficult sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.” She remembers over the years the girls he had kissed. Two years ago, she had watched him kiss Abigail and she had not spoken to him till he had come and thrown rocks at her window in the rain. “He kisses a lot of other girls.”
“Well, maybe he does do that.” She shrugs. “I don’t think it means much. He always comes back to you, doesn’t he?”
“I…I guess so.’ Her voice is unsure and hesitant. There will be a day that he will not come back and she will be right, but she does not say the words.
People always failed to live up to their promises.
She shakes her head. “Come on, now. We’ll miss Break the Straw if we’re not fast enough, and you’ll miss your chance to have him for the night.”
“What? The game’s random, though.”
“That’s what it seems like, dear.” She gives her a wink and pulls her out the door. “Come on, and let me do some magic.”
He is not entirely sure where he is anymore.
His vision is blurred and indistinct, and the world about him is quiet. There is a calm roar beneath the silence; he is unsure of how else to describe the noise.
He tries to speak, but he does not hear anything. This, then, was what it was like to be deaf.
He raises his hand but finds that he has nothing to raise. He is disembodied and blind, a specter in a sense. There are images that flash by, momentarily, but he does not grasp them or understand their import.
He does not know how long he has been in this darkness. There is no time in this place. It cannot have been long.
The alcohol slows his mind but he remembers the footsteps that drew closer and closer. He remembers the crow, smug and amused. Then the whispers were irresistible, and his body did not move as he asked. It was theirs and their own.
It is much like being asleep, he decides, or dreaming awake.
There is a motion in the darkness, and then he hears something.
Someone is screaming. In pain, in denial and in anguish. He does not know if it his own or someone else’s.
But then there suddenly is so much noise and he clutches his head with hands that are not there and he screams too and his senses are flooded with a million different sensations and memories come pouring out as the floodgates open and he screams again and begs for it to go away and leave him alone but it doesn’t and there is just so much water and he can feel the cold and how it swirled around like dark syrup and his mind reels and sobs and it does not end.
So he runs.
He runs and runs with legs that he does not have and runs away from all of it into the cold and does not look back.
He could never look back.
Not once, not ever.
He does not know how long he ran. But it is quiet now, and then there is a man in black at the edge. A man in black, with wild black hair and bright yellow eyes and a mask like a crow. He sits on the precipice, perches like a bird- he had come to him when he was a child. Has he always been there?
The smile is cold and alien, and he shivers.
The man walks towards him and the footsteps thud and the world quakes.
Then he is in a field of flowers and the sky is clouded but not dark and the sun is hidden. The flowers are purple and pink and strike a memory- blazing stars, Mother called them. Asters- they had grown at her grave.
He had picked them at the river with her, together, in the sunlight.
She is there and her back is to him. He calls her name and runs to her, but she does not turn.
He calls her name again.
Why is he calling her that name?
Then he is drowning and something floods his lungs and he cannot breathe and he claws and fights but a hand holds him down. There is a cold touch of marble and he tastes iron in his mouth.
The broken mirror looks back at him from the floor.
Then there is something solid and firm and desperately he pulls it closer and holds it to him like it is the only real thing.
Then there is a flood of sensory input as his brain races and he breathes with his lungs the scent of lavender and his hands touch the warmth and he can feel the heat of where their skin touches and the soft hair beneath his fingers and the smooth hollow of the neck and it is all so real and alive and safe and quiet.
There is a hesitation and shock in the lips beneath his.
They taste something like honey.
He opens his eyes.
“I know you.”
She stands there, and does not move. Maybe out of fear, or something else, she doesn’t know or care now.
He smiles at her, wanly. “Sorry.”
He slumps against her abruptly and falls limp. She struggles to keep him from hitting the ground. “This is not fair at all.”
“Like, seriously.” She edges him along the wall and stumbles into a table. Pain flares along her knee and she grimaces. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one doing this?”
He is silent and unresponsive. Typical.
“Honestly, you idiot.” She strains her arms and pushes him off of her into a nearby chair. His eyes are closed and his skin is hot, but he is breathing steadily. “I’m not going to let you live this down.”
“But what was that about just now?” She traces lines across his face. The memory is still fresh and alive and very much there and present in front of her. He had been acting erratically throughout the game, and had said strange things. Then the blindfolds had come on and the game started.
Then she was led to the room and she had taken the blindfold off, as custom, and her matching partner had walked in. She should’ve known Annabelle to set something like this up. She had spoken to him, and decided to just skip the part of the game when he had taken her face in his hands and pulled her close to him. She remembers the quickening of her pulse and the feeling of his lips against hers, desperate and eager and passionate.
“I guess it might’ve been worth the haul.” She feels her face flush from the memory. The blood races in her ears.
“What was worth the haul?”
She looks up, startled at the door- Annabelle stands there, a very curious expression on her face. “Uh. Nothing. He fainted.”
She shakes her head and slips in, closing the door behind her. “Tut tut, Claire. Did kissing you make him that nervous?”
“Oh, no.” She feels her face grow warm. “It wasn’t that.”
“Oh, you’re blushing!” She gives the prone body another glance. “He’s in a bit of a sorry state…”
“I think that’s the alcohol. His mother had an issue with the bottle.”
“No, silly.” Annabelle gives her an appraising look and gives an arch smile. “Don’t you think your and his clothes are a little, hum, messy?”
“What…” She flushes and shakes her head. “It’s not what you think!”
Her laugh is silvery and delighted. “Oh, I knew I was right in sticking you with him tonight. Let’s get him on the bed at least.”
She straightens her clothes and gives an appraising look to the prone body. “Careful- he’s heavier than he looks.”
“All that muscle, eh?” Another laugh, softer this time. “Now, don’t get angry. You don’t want to wake him, do you?”
True. He was usually a light sleeper. She lowers her voice carefully and pushes against the chair. “Do we really look that bad?”
“No. I’m just teasing.” A pause and the scrapes of the chair legs. “Did you actually…”
She feels the heat creep up her neck and she does not answer. She focuses on rolling him onto the bed.
“You did? You did!” Annabelle throws her hands around her neck and hugs her close. “Oh, you are so going to talk about this with me.”
“Right now?” She glances toward Jacob and hopes desperately that he is still unconscious. Or even if he’ll remember any of this come morning. Still, she can’t bring herself to just leave him here. “But…”
“Oh, I get it. You want some more time with him?” She grins and gives her a pat on the shoulder. “Or you’re worried about him. Don’t worry. I’ll leave you two the room for the night. For. Whatever.”
She opens her mouth, but can’t seem to find the words.
“Shh. We’ll talk in the morning.” She is already up at the door and closes it quietly behind her.
“But…Ah.” She sits down, almost in relief, on the bed beside his inert form. The only sound she can hear is the sound of her and his breathing and the rain outside. She looks at him, asleep, and wonders and remembers. “You’re a work of art, you know?”
“Not that you do, cause you’re sleeping right now.” She pauses and pulls the blanket over him. He was so strange sometimes. “Which means I could talk about anything right now, and you’d not know it.”
“Gosh, I could talk about a lot of things right now. You, for one. You you you. Idiot.” She glances at his still form and shakes her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter as much if I call you that if you’re not awake. I mean, I don’t even know where to start. How about what you just pulled just now? I may sound a little angry and pissed off right now, and well, that’s cause you’re you. And you always go run off and do things like that- think about Abigail. But you’re so. So stupid and blind and an idiot. It’s not fair to just go off and do those things, you know? Well, you do, since I lectured you about this before.”
“But I guess that’s the world for you, huh? Females, with their winsome looks, can only ever look at one. And you get to hop around all you want and kiss all the girls. Except me, till now. But, you’re so frustrating and hard to understand. I don’t even know what tonight means, if it means anything at all. Or how to take it, even. Should I ignore it and pretend it never happened? I could take it to mean something, couldn’t I? But that’d be useless, wouldn’t it? Just because you’re so complicated and guarded and you don’t ever tell me things and you have me pry. You hate that, but that’s only because you don’t tell me things. It’s for your own good. Like the river.”
“It’s different with you, though. I never told you this, and I don’t plan to do this while you’re awake. Mind you, this is also incredibly cathartic for me. I think that’s what the word means. You’re one of the people that I’ve known for the longest times that I can trust. I trust you, you know? I think you trust me, as much as you trust someone. You’re still here, and that means something to me. Even if you don’t know it. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. But that’s why these things. You can’t just do them. You worry me sometimes.” She sighs and studies his face. He murmurs something and tosses.
“Still.” She brushes his hair to the side and gently touches his cheek with her fingers. She opens her mouth, but shakes her head and decides against it and smiles ruefully to herself. “Nothing. Never mind.”
She leans down and gently, her lips brush his forehead.
He woke in the morning. How it was morning, he wasn’t sure. A feeling.
His head hurt. Horribly.
He would never drink that much again. It was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
It is dark in the room, and he cannot remember much of what happened or where he is. The memories are cobwebbed and fragmented and nonsensical. He recalls snatches of sentences and words and a girl.
He grimaces as he sits up in the bed. He was never going to drink again.
Someone moves beside him, and he glances down, startled.
Claire.
What was she doing here? Next to him, in bed? What- wait. What had happened? Had something happened between them? She was dressed still, thankfully. Nothing of that magnitude, but still…
He edges himself out of the bed, careful not to wake her. There is a chair by the bed, conveniently. He sits down and holds his heads between his hands and tries to digest the situation and piece some explanation together.
He could remember a girl named Valerie, and the taste of alcohol. Then Claire’s voice, for a time, but distant and muddled as to distort her words. “You had too much to drink, sir. Last time.”
He looks at her sleeping form and pulls the blankets over her and watches her. Gently, he brushes away the stray strange of hair away from her face and smiles. She always complained about her hair in the morning.
He lowers his head till their foreheads touch. He considers saying something, but does not.
Her eyes flutter open, and she stares at him.
A pause.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft and quiet.
“Um, hi.” He continues to stare, unsure of what to do. She makes no movement on her part.
Several heartbeats pass on by.
Someone coughs slightly from the doorway and the reverie breaks. He pulls back quickly and looks to see Annabelle there, a bemused expression on her face. “Ah.”
Claire sits up on the bed and straightens her clothes. “Hi Annabelle.”
“Hello, Claire. And Jacob.” She cocks her head in his direction slightly.
“Hello,” He stands up and bows to her. “Still charming as ever, I see.”
“Oh, you flatterer.” Her eyes do not seem to quite meet his and lock instead with Claire’s. “How are you feeling?”
“Jacob was just about to go home.” She gives him a pointed look. “Isn’t that right, Jacob?”
“Leaving, leaving.” He wasn’t entirely sure what it was they would discuss, but whatever it was, he was not to know of it.
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Why’d you kick him out like that so fast?”
“He needs to get home!”
“Uh hu…So what were you two doing when I came in?”
“Nothing!”
“Right, Claire. Right.”
I like this piece. It was fun, he's stupid and can't hold his drink, and she's amazing and fun and a darling girl. Absolutely darling. We also begin to establish some rules of the 'voices', and oh.
Valerie. She, well, she's a character. You don't see much of her here, but trust me, she'll be back for more.
He dislikes parties, for numerous reasons.
He feels restless and trapped in the small rooms that he paces in, with the bodies pressed against each other from wall to wall. It is too close and contained, and the noise makes his head hurt at times.
Hours ago, he had argued with her about coming, but he knew it was futile from the moment she suggested it. She had set her mind on attending, and she could be horribly stubborn about the things she chose. And maybe she knew that he would not have let her go alone, but he had given in.
Maybe asking him to come with her was just a nicety. The thought is appreciated, still.
It does not make the ordeal any more enjoyable.
He does not know where she is, either- after they had arrived, they were greeted by Annabelle and several other girls that she knew. They had politely greeted him and then she was pulled away and she had told him that she would be back soon.
That was more than an hour ago. He had wandered from room to room in the time, and spoken a few words. He did not know many people here and many of the attendants were older than him. This was a party by her friends, and he was a stranger.
He makes his way to the kitchen, past the mingling forms in the dim light.
There is no music here- only the chatter of voices.
The kitchen is empty when he finds it. There is an array of alcohols and their respective bottles on the counter, but he passes them by. He rummages about the cabinets till he finds a glass, and fills it up with water. Douglas and his friends would go drinking, sometimes, when Father was not home and working late.
Father did not approve of alcohol. He suspected it had to do with Mother.
He drinks the water and wonders where Douglas is tonight, and how much longer
they will be here. The water comes as a cool relief to his throat. He forgot to tell Father when to expect him back. Maybe Father wouldn’t notice, again.
“What’re you drinking?” A girl’s voice from behind him.
“Just water,” He turns to face her in the under-lit kitchen. Her hair is wavy and golden and her face, though pretty, is not one he knows. She seems to be older than him, by a little. “Nice way to start the night off. Can’t live without it.”
“Oh, but you have so many other choices.” She smiles and walks up next to him to find a glass. “I mean, why just water?”
“It’s a start.” He He feels strangely clumsy and awkward around her. He’s never felt this way around Claire or her friends. Claire made him feel uncomfortable in a different way. “It lets me have a clear head. What are you drinking?”
“Something a bit more exciting than you.” She gives him another smile and turns to face him.
“Something more exciting than me? That sounds like an insult.”
“Not an insult; try something,” She cocks her head and edges closer. “Something more like a challenge.”
“I like challenges, sometimes. Not all the time.” He shrugs and watches her. He has learned many things from studying people carefully.
“Well,” She pours a golden liquid from a bottle and gives him another smile and raises her glass. “What about now?”
“I don’t know. I like to keep a clear head.” He isn’t sure what to do about her invitation. “Especially when I see someone like you.”
She tilts her head and rests her glass on his chest. “Someone like me?”
“Well, just.” He pauses and thinks of a proper response. “Someone as pretty as you.”
“My.” She pulls back and looks him over. “You’re a flatterer.”
“I can only speak the truth.”
“The truth and nothing else?” Her smile is arch and she rests her hand on his arm. There is a certain subterfuge to her question.
“Absolutely.” His unease grows and he wonders where Claire is. Hopefully, he could find her before this went anywhere. “I’m sorry, what was your name?”
She tosses her hair and leans forward slightly and suddenly, the kitchen did not seem so large. Her breath is warm on his ear. “I’m Valerie. Who are you?”
“I’m Jacob.”
Where was she?
“So, Claire,” Annabelle sits herself down on the bed across from her and regards her intently. “What’s the story?”
“What story?” Annabelle had been giving her sidelong glances throughout the evening, when she was being introduced to the various people attending. Many of those were male, and they had smiled animatedly at her. They had retired to Annabelle’s bedroom afterwards.
She was used to being paraded about.
Annabelle sighs and shakes her head. “Don’t play dumb. I’m your best friend, right?”
“Yes.” She isn’t sure exactly what they’re getting at. They couldn’t possibly mean Father’s latest ‘acquaintance. Mother had called her ‘a young filly’ and left without a word. There was no way that they could know about that. “I’m just not exactly sure what you’re trying to get at.”
“Annabelle means that boy you always walk home with.” Carla remarks idly while primping her hair in the mirror. She the eldest girl here by two years, and they look to her wisdom with awe and respect. “What’s his name?”
“Jacob.” Jessica adds, running her hands through Claire’s hair. “I love your hair, Claire.”
“Really? It’s horrid in the mornings sometimes.”
“Ahem.” Annabelle clears her throat and gives a pointed look to Jessica. She has always been the leader among them. “We’re getting off topic here.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Claire- Jacob?”
“What about him?” She does not meet Annabelle’s gaze and focuses on pulling her hair back. “He’s just a friend.”
“Oh, just a friend?” Carla puts the makeup down and turns to look at her. “Don’t play that card.”
“He is!”
“Come on Claire,” Annabelle begins to fiddle with things on the dresser. “You’re not blind, are you?”
“No…” She has an uneasy feeling about the question. “Why?”
“You didn’t even give more than two seconds to any of the guys we met.” Jessica points out. “And trust me, some of those were pretty cute.”
“I wouldn’t say that they were that good looking,” She picks up a book from the bookshelf and browses through it. She really didn’t want to talk about this in front of them all. “Aren’t you and that Willard boy walking out with each other, Jessica?”
“His name is Will.” Jessica blushes and looks away. Willard was a new boy in their class- freckled and red headed and gangly; Claire did not understand Jessica’s attraction to him.
“I don’t see why you’d walk out with him.”
“To each her own.” Carla yawns and leans back glance at Claire. “Your boy is a looker, though.”
There is a chorus of agreement, but she does not answer and bites her lip. “He’s just a friend.”
“Come on- he’s always with you and he walks you everywhere and visits you and you might as well fess up. It’s sure as rain.” Carla gives her a languid stare. “It’s pretty obvious you’re not just friends.”
“I don’t see why you’re making this difficult, Claire.” Annabelle shakes he head and begins to toy with the things on the dresser. “I’d snap him up from you.”
“What are you saying?” She regrets her tone- it is too sharp and biting.
“That.” Annabelle smiles triumphantly. “You get prickly about him.”
“He’s just a friend.” There are other things that she does not say, and that she does not want to say with so many ears present. “Could we talk about something else, other than boys? It’s rather tiring.”
“Sure. How do you like the weather?” Annabelle sits down next to her, and gives her a look that speaks volumes. They will talk, later.
“Really now?”
“You wanted to change the subject. How about classes?”
“That’ll do.”
He finds himself pressed against someone else.
Someone who is very much female.
He opens his eyes and is suddenly aware of her lips pressed against his and her arms around his neck. He takes stock of his situation- her eyes are closed and his back is against the wall and his hands are at the small of her back. The room they are in is dim, and he can make out other forms around them.
She pulls back slowly, but her lips linger on his. Her breath is slow and she smiles at him. “Enough of a challenge for you?”
He does not know what to say or do.
She seems to ignore his silence and kisses him again, long and passionate. He carefully moves his hands away from her and gently pushes her away. She breaks the kiss and looks at him, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“I, I need something to drink.” His words sound muddled and thick to him. He smiles at her and she moves away from him. He makes his way, confused, through the crowd to the kitchen.
He runs the water from the sink and splashes the cool water on his face. It comes as a relief to his hot skin. He breathes deeply and focuses on the present.
He cannot remember how he got here.
There was a girl in the kitchen- what was her name? Valerie, maybe? They had talked, and she had made advances and then. They had left, and someone offered him a drink. It had burned down his throat and warmed him and made him feel giddy and lightheaded.
That was before, though.
He does not remember what happened shortly after he left the kitchen. He remembers yelling, loud voices yelling for something. He did not understand them in his memory and did not know where they had come from. He splashes more water on his face, and tries to clear his mind and checks the clock and stares for a moment.
He cannot remember the last half hour. Where there should be some recollection, unclear and vague, there is nothing. He couldn’t have had that much to drink. “What happened to you?”
The reflection in the window does not answer him and stares back unerringly.
His head is starting to hurt.
He sighs and clumsily finds a glass on the counter and fills it up with water. He is not sure what to tell the girl that he had just fled from or what to do at all. He cannot leave till he finds her, and he doesn’t even know where to start looking for her. He downs the contents of the glass and coughs violently as the liquid burns its way down his throat. Someone must have left their drink here. Lovely, just lovely. The night could not be any worse.
A crow lands next to him.
He glances up in confusion and surprise. It watches him with its yellow eyes.
Strange. But this is not something he needs now.
It hops toward him and he stumbles back into someone. “Careful!”
He turns around to see the girl, Valerie. “Hello.”
She smiles at him and leans in, her hands behind her back. He thinks that she might kiss him again, but she moves her lips against his ear. “You take too long.”
“Ah, I’m sorry. Something came up…” He does not finish his words before she pulls him in for a kiss. Her eyes are closed, thankfully. He tries desperately to think of how to get out of this and ignore her leg sliding against his.
It proves to be very difficult to focus.
Behind him, a glass is knocked over. The crow caws harshly and alights to his shoulder and looks at him.
He needs to find Claire and leave. Soon. He pulls back slightly, but she only tightens her arms around him. The blood is pounding in his ears now, and the crow laughs at him with that raucous sound.
She does not hear. He moves along her neck and she moans slightly. The crow watches and seems to smile, amused.
There is a strange pressure in his mind, and a sensation of falling. He hears a voice call his name, but she seems not to hear it.
Then a footstep.
And another. They echo in his mind, loud and close as they near in. The voices call his name, insistent and demanding. On his shoulder, the crow sounds again.
No- not now. Why now? He tries focus on the girl in front of him and the reality of the present- the taste of her lips, the soft skin of her cheek, the scent of her hair and the feeling of her fingers in his hair and the desperate wish that it was another’s face that he held.
Footsteps sound in the doorway.
The room around him begins to merge and blur and spin slowly, as if dangled on a string. Valerie’s features begin to darken and fade.
The crow hops next to his ear and begins to whisper. He knows the voice. It is calling and demanding and yelling and too loud. Too loud.
The figure in the doorway draws closer. That mask and those eyes.
He wishes, silently, that she was here.
Annabelle closes the door to her bedroom before she turns to look at her, green eyes stern. “Spill the water, now. We’re alone.”
Carla and Jessica had left to play in a game of Break the Straw. It was a strange game that she did not quite understand and played between boys and girls.
“I,” She hesitates and bites her lip, unsure. She is never sure with him and she isn’t sure how much to say. But it is Annabelle. “I don’t know.”
She sighs and sits down next to her on the bed. “What’s really up between you and him?”
“Exactly what I said- I don’t know.”
“I’m not getting what you mean, Claire.” Her brow is furrowed and confused.
“It’s just. I’ve known him for so long.” She smiles at the memory, fondly, when they had first met. She was puzzled by him, then, and thought him strange. The sentiment has changed little.
“Since you were children, right? How long has it been?”
“About nine years now.” That long of a time was what had complicated things. She knew him so well, and he knew her so well. “We practically grew up together.”
“But…?”
“Well,” She makes a face and tries to decide how to explain the matter. If she knew how to deal with it, she would. “It makes things complicated, sometimes. He’s like a brother to me, almost.”
“A brother who’s in love with you.” She throws her hands in the air and shakes her head. “He spends all his time with you, as far as I know. He follows you everywhere, and he’s good looking and he’s gracious and polite. I’ve never seen him without you- he’s always with you.”
“I know.” She sighs and tucks her knees under her chin and wonders if she should tell her the not so pleasant parts of Jacob’s past. He was always so guarded about his secrets. “It’s just. I don’t know.”
“Claire, I love you as a friend. But I also feel like telling you that you’re absolutely difficult sometimes.”
“I’m sorry.” She remembers over the years the girls he had kissed. Two years ago, she had watched him kiss Abigail and she had not spoken to him till he had come and thrown rocks at her window in the rain. “He kisses a lot of other girls.”
“Well, maybe he does do that.” She shrugs. “I don’t think it means much. He always comes back to you, doesn’t he?”
“I…I guess so.’ Her voice is unsure and hesitant. There will be a day that he will not come back and she will be right, but she does not say the words.
People always failed to live up to their promises.
She shakes her head. “Come on, now. We’ll miss Break the Straw if we’re not fast enough, and you’ll miss your chance to have him for the night.”
“What? The game’s random, though.”
“That’s what it seems like, dear.” She gives her a wink and pulls her out the door. “Come on, and let me do some magic.”
He is not entirely sure where he is anymore.
His vision is blurred and indistinct, and the world about him is quiet. There is a calm roar beneath the silence; he is unsure of how else to describe the noise.
He tries to speak, but he does not hear anything. This, then, was what it was like to be deaf.
He raises his hand but finds that he has nothing to raise. He is disembodied and blind, a specter in a sense. There are images that flash by, momentarily, but he does not grasp them or understand their import.
He does not know how long he has been in this darkness. There is no time in this place. It cannot have been long.
The alcohol slows his mind but he remembers the footsteps that drew closer and closer. He remembers the crow, smug and amused. Then the whispers were irresistible, and his body did not move as he asked. It was theirs and their own.
It is much like being asleep, he decides, or dreaming awake.
There is a motion in the darkness, and then he hears something.
Someone is screaming. In pain, in denial and in anguish. He does not know if it his own or someone else’s.
But then there suddenly is so much noise and he clutches his head with hands that are not there and he screams too and his senses are flooded with a million different sensations and memories come pouring out as the floodgates open and he screams again and begs for it to go away and leave him alone but it doesn’t and there is just so much water and he can feel the cold and how it swirled around like dark syrup and his mind reels and sobs and it does not end.
So he runs.
He runs and runs with legs that he does not have and runs away from all of it into the cold and does not look back.
He could never look back.
Not once, not ever.
He does not know how long he ran. But it is quiet now, and then there is a man in black at the edge. A man in black, with wild black hair and bright yellow eyes and a mask like a crow. He sits on the precipice, perches like a bird- he had come to him when he was a child. Has he always been there?
The smile is cold and alien, and he shivers.
The man walks towards him and the footsteps thud and the world quakes.
Then he is in a field of flowers and the sky is clouded but not dark and the sun is hidden. The flowers are purple and pink and strike a memory- blazing stars, Mother called them. Asters- they had grown at her grave.
He had picked them at the river with her, together, in the sunlight.
She is there and her back is to him. He calls her name and runs to her, but she does not turn.
He calls her name again.
Why is he calling her that name?
Then he is drowning and something floods his lungs and he cannot breathe and he claws and fights but a hand holds him down. There is a cold touch of marble and he tastes iron in his mouth.
The broken mirror looks back at him from the floor.
Then there is something solid and firm and desperately he pulls it closer and holds it to him like it is the only real thing.
Then there is a flood of sensory input as his brain races and he breathes with his lungs the scent of lavender and his hands touch the warmth and he can feel the heat of where their skin touches and the soft hair beneath his fingers and the smooth hollow of the neck and it is all so real and alive and safe and quiet.
There is a hesitation and shock in the lips beneath his.
They taste something like honey.
He opens his eyes.
“I know you.”
She stands there, and does not move. Maybe out of fear, or something else, she doesn’t know or care now.
He smiles at her, wanly. “Sorry.”
He slumps against her abruptly and falls limp. She struggles to keep him from hitting the ground. “This is not fair at all.”
“Like, seriously.” She edges him along the wall and stumbles into a table. Pain flares along her knee and she grimaces. “Aren’t you supposed to be the one doing this?”
He is silent and unresponsive. Typical.
“Honestly, you idiot.” She strains her arms and pushes him off of her into a nearby chair. His eyes are closed and his skin is hot, but he is breathing steadily. “I’m not going to let you live this down.”
“But what was that about just now?” She traces lines across his face. The memory is still fresh and alive and very much there and present in front of her. He had been acting erratically throughout the game, and had said strange things. Then the blindfolds had come on and the game started.
Then she was led to the room and she had taken the blindfold off, as custom, and her matching partner had walked in. She should’ve known Annabelle to set something like this up. She had spoken to him, and decided to just skip the part of the game when he had taken her face in his hands and pulled her close to him. She remembers the quickening of her pulse and the feeling of his lips against hers, desperate and eager and passionate.
“I guess it might’ve been worth the haul.” She feels her face flush from the memory. The blood races in her ears.
“What was worth the haul?”
She looks up, startled at the door- Annabelle stands there, a very curious expression on her face. “Uh. Nothing. He fainted.”
She shakes her head and slips in, closing the door behind her. “Tut tut, Claire. Did kissing you make him that nervous?”
“Oh, no.” She feels her face grow warm. “It wasn’t that.”
“Oh, you’re blushing!” She gives the prone body another glance. “He’s in a bit of a sorry state…”
“I think that’s the alcohol. His mother had an issue with the bottle.”
“No, silly.” Annabelle gives her an appraising look and gives an arch smile. “Don’t you think your and his clothes are a little, hum, messy?”
“What…” She flushes and shakes her head. “It’s not what you think!”
Her laugh is silvery and delighted. “Oh, I knew I was right in sticking you with him tonight. Let’s get him on the bed at least.”
She straightens her clothes and gives an appraising look to the prone body. “Careful- he’s heavier than he looks.”
“All that muscle, eh?” Another laugh, softer this time. “Now, don’t get angry. You don’t want to wake him, do you?”
True. He was usually a light sleeper. She lowers her voice carefully and pushes against the chair. “Do we really look that bad?”
“No. I’m just teasing.” A pause and the scrapes of the chair legs. “Did you actually…”
She feels the heat creep up her neck and she does not answer. She focuses on rolling him onto the bed.
“You did? You did!” Annabelle throws her hands around her neck and hugs her close. “Oh, you are so going to talk about this with me.”
“Right now?” She glances toward Jacob and hopes desperately that he is still unconscious. Or even if he’ll remember any of this come morning. Still, she can’t bring herself to just leave him here. “But…”
“Oh, I get it. You want some more time with him?” She grins and gives her a pat on the shoulder. “Or you’re worried about him. Don’t worry. I’ll leave you two the room for the night. For. Whatever.”
She opens her mouth, but can’t seem to find the words.
“Shh. We’ll talk in the morning.” She is already up at the door and closes it quietly behind her.
“But…Ah.” She sits down, almost in relief, on the bed beside his inert form. The only sound she can hear is the sound of her and his breathing and the rain outside. She looks at him, asleep, and wonders and remembers. “You’re a work of art, you know?”
“Not that you do, cause you’re sleeping right now.” She pauses and pulls the blanket over him. He was so strange sometimes. “Which means I could talk about anything right now, and you’d not know it.”
“Gosh, I could talk about a lot of things right now. You, for one. You you you. Idiot.” She glances at his still form and shakes her head. “I guess it doesn’t matter as much if I call you that if you’re not awake. I mean, I don’t even know where to start. How about what you just pulled just now? I may sound a little angry and pissed off right now, and well, that’s cause you’re you. And you always go run off and do things like that- think about Abigail. But you’re so. So stupid and blind and an idiot. It’s not fair to just go off and do those things, you know? Well, you do, since I lectured you about this before.”
“But I guess that’s the world for you, huh? Females, with their winsome looks, can only ever look at one. And you get to hop around all you want and kiss all the girls. Except me, till now. But, you’re so frustrating and hard to understand. I don’t even know what tonight means, if it means anything at all. Or how to take it, even. Should I ignore it and pretend it never happened? I could take it to mean something, couldn’t I? But that’d be useless, wouldn’t it? Just because you’re so complicated and guarded and you don’t ever tell me things and you have me pry. You hate that, but that’s only because you don’t tell me things. It’s for your own good. Like the river.”
“It’s different with you, though. I never told you this, and I don’t plan to do this while you’re awake. Mind you, this is also incredibly cathartic for me. I think that’s what the word means. You’re one of the people that I’ve known for the longest times that I can trust. I trust you, you know? I think you trust me, as much as you trust someone. You’re still here, and that means something to me. Even if you don’t know it. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose. But that’s why these things. You can’t just do them. You worry me sometimes.” She sighs and studies his face. He murmurs something and tosses.
“Still.” She brushes his hair to the side and gently touches his cheek with her fingers. She opens her mouth, but shakes her head and decides against it and smiles ruefully to herself. “Nothing. Never mind.”
She leans down and gently, her lips brush his forehead.
He woke in the morning. How it was morning, he wasn’t sure. A feeling.
His head hurt. Horribly.
He would never drink that much again. It was a bad idea. A very bad idea.
It is dark in the room, and he cannot remember much of what happened or where he is. The memories are cobwebbed and fragmented and nonsensical. He recalls snatches of sentences and words and a girl.
He grimaces as he sits up in the bed. He was never going to drink again.
Someone moves beside him, and he glances down, startled.
Claire.
What was she doing here? Next to him, in bed? What- wait. What had happened? Had something happened between them? She was dressed still, thankfully. Nothing of that magnitude, but still…
He edges himself out of the bed, careful not to wake her. There is a chair by the bed, conveniently. He sits down and holds his heads between his hands and tries to digest the situation and piece some explanation together.
He could remember a girl named Valerie, and the taste of alcohol. Then Claire’s voice, for a time, but distant and muddled as to distort her words. “You had too much to drink, sir. Last time.”
He looks at her sleeping form and pulls the blankets over her and watches her. Gently, he brushes away the stray strange of hair away from her face and smiles. She always complained about her hair in the morning.
He lowers his head till their foreheads touch. He considers saying something, but does not.
Her eyes flutter open, and she stares at him.
A pause.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft and quiet.
“Um, hi.” He continues to stare, unsure of what to do. She makes no movement on her part.
Several heartbeats pass on by.
Someone coughs slightly from the doorway and the reverie breaks. He pulls back quickly and looks to see Annabelle there, a bemused expression on her face. “Ah.”
Claire sits up on the bed and straightens her clothes. “Hi Annabelle.”
“Hello, Claire. And Jacob.” She cocks her head in his direction slightly.
“Hello,” He stands up and bows to her. “Still charming as ever, I see.”
“Oh, you flatterer.” Her eyes do not seem to quite meet his and lock instead with Claire’s. “How are you feeling?”
“Jacob was just about to go home.” She gives him a pointed look. “Isn’t that right, Jacob?”
“Leaving, leaving.” He wasn’t entirely sure what it was they would discuss, but whatever it was, he was not to know of it.
“Well…”
“Well what?”
“Why’d you kick him out like that so fast?”
“He needs to get home!”
“Uh hu…So what were you two doing when I came in?”
“Nothing!”
“Right, Claire. Right.”