by Nicci Harris
Daddy, stop.
Her eyes plead with his. She can’t help it. His large rough fingers wrap around her throat and the air is squeezed out, hissing through her gaping mouth. Her eyes widen.
She knows her mum died. But she doesn’t understand the concept of dying. The girl does understand fear, desperation, and helplessness. She hopes that isn’t what dying is, because if it is, then she is dying every day. A buzzing begins in the girl’s head as oxygen leaves her system. He tightens his grasp, crushing, draining, shaking, tighter, until the girl’s eyes close and she goes limp.
FIVE: BLESK
My cowboy boots shuffle through the leaves, and my long hair swishes around me as I wander the streets, searching for the right apartment building. I have no intention of knocking or going in. I just want to leave a thank-you note
After a half hour of navigating my way to his building, I find myself outside the lobby. I now have the impulse to run back before anyone sees me. I don’t, but I should. The building has one of those grand entrances with a doorman and floor-to-ceiling glazed windows.
It’s just a thank you note.
Then I’m leaving. No harm done. No rules broken. No lines crossed. Ebullient
As I wander over the threshold, I’m greeted by a smiling older man.
“Good morning, young lady. Who are you here to see?” He has an odd accent, European but laced with the Australian twang. His suit is elegant, and he wears it confidently. There is a nametag below his right collar, but I’m too dumbfounded by his presence to read it.
“Umm, I just want to leave something for someone. He won’t be home, anyway,” I say, trying not to fidget.
“What is your name, Miss?” he asks, leaving his desk and approaching my side. “Are you on the visitors list?”
“Umm, I’m Blesk Bellamy and… umm.” I bite down hard on my lower lip and twiddle my fingers awkwardly around my hair. “I won’t be on the list.”
Stop fidgeting.
“And who are you here to see?”
I blink at him several times before answering. “Konnor Slater.”
“Yes, Miss, he is home. I will call him for you,” he states kindly, the corner of his eyes wrinkle with lines that denote his warm nature.
“Please—” I nearly lunge to stop him from walking towards the desk phone. “I just want to leave him something.”
He stops and leans towards me. “Miss Bellamy, he will want to see you. Let me call him?” He nods at me and waits for me to agree in the same fashion. I nod.
He will want to see me?
“Um, okay, thank you,” I murmur with a gulp. I begin to gasp, not having planned on actually seeing Konnor. My hair is a mess from the wind, my dress is to short, my face is flushed, and my boots… oh my stupid boots!
The man is on the phone, but due to distance his voice is barely audible. I take this moment to look around the lobby. Two mirrored elevators flash with activity at the rear, and there is a small sitting area opposite the reception desk. The tiled floor is reflective, the high ceilings display various feature lighting, and ornamental trees are scattered tastefully around the room.
“Miss Bellamy?” the man calls out.
I whip around, grinning nervously. “Yes, sir?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Don’t call me sir. I’m Adolf.”
“Oh, sorry.” I walk towards him. “I’m Blesk. Oh, well, I guess you know that already.”
Stop babbling.
“He said go on up. It is apartment 1002. That is level 10. Room 2. Here’s a card for the elevator.” I take it hesitantly.
“Thank you.” I look at the card for a while, motionless. I hear Adolf chuckle, probably at me.
“He said he would usually come to collect you, Miss Bellamy, but,” he peers up in contemplation, “he can’t this time.”
“That’s fine, I wouldn’t expect him too,” I say. I muster my resolve, spinning and striding towards the elevators.
The elevator stops at the top floor, pinging as the doors open into the hallway. I move quietly, passing various doors until I get to apartment 1002. I stop and stare at it.
Just knock…
I’m positive the masses can walk through doors without a fully comprehensive analysis of what could be behind it, and how that could change what is outside of it. It reminds me of a quote by Robert Frost, “Before I built a wall, I’d ask to know what I was walling in or walling out.”
I raise my fist and knock delicately, secretly hoping he won’t hear me. The door immediately swings open.
Oh god.
He’s shirtless, his bicep is flexing beside his head while he dries his wet hair with a towel, and his torso is etched with trim muscles. My jaw drops open.
Close your mouth, Blesk…
Tiny beads of water slide down his chest, and little tufts of hair run from his navel to the seam of his jeans. I gulp and dart my eyes to meet his, which I quickly find doesn’t help my rapid pulse, because his are beautiful. The most perfect shade of green.
And they’re kind.
“Blesk, sorry about,” he lowers his arm to his side, “not being better presented.”
Oh, I like your presentation. High Distinction from me.
My mouth flaps without making a sound, because simultaneously talking and perving is difficult.
A knowing grin plays on his lips.
“Are you checking me out, Miss Bellamy?”
“Oh my God,” I say, mortified. “No, I just wanted to give you this.” I hand him the envelope. Actually, I throw it at him.
“Please, come inside.” He waves me in.
My feet decide to stroll cautiously into his apartment before I give them permission to. I survey the open floor plan apartment. Furniture is used to designate sections and the bedroom area in the far corner is mostly hidden by a large bookcase. There is a door at the back also, perhaps it leads to a bathroom. The lounge area is opposite the front door, which I am currently hesitant to move too far from. The apartment is trendy. Graphic designs and famous street-art posters embellish the exposed brick walls. The kitchen boasts all stainless steel appliances and a large stone counter top. It’s cool. It’s very… him.
“Wanna drink?” He strides over to the kitchen where he pours himself a glass of liquor, pinning me with his eyes every time he looks up from his drink.
“I really didn’t want to disturb you. I just wanted to thank you for the harmonica. How did you manage to get it by 9am?” I ask, taking a step closer to him. His eyes are glued to me as he throws back a mouthful of his drink.
“You’re not disturbing me. What’s with the formalities, Blesk? Feeling weird about being here?”
I giggle, and that makes him smile, etching two perfect dimples onto either side of his lips. Everything about him is oddly comforting, including his dimples.
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
He manoeuvres around the kitchen bench and stands beside me. “Is it because I might be your tutor or because Erik told you to stay away from me?”
“A bit from column A and a bit from column B,” I admit, folding my lip between my teeth and chewing on it nervously.
He laughs loudly. “Well, fuck both columns, ’cause they don’t matter. Erik can get over it. You’re not in high school.”
“So, fraternising with your students is fine?” I ask. He strolls over to the lounge area and slumps down on the couch. He tilts his head towards the cushion beside him in an obvious "get over here" gesture. He drapes his arm over the back and tucks his knee up to one side to face me.
His eyes narrow. “Define fraternising?”
“You aren’t my English teacher, Mr Slater.” I smile at him because something about our conversation seems to justify it.
“It’s probably frowned upon. But… we’re pretty much the same age,” he says, while watching me intently as I circle the couch and then sit across from him on the single recliner, a coffee table separating us. The cushion is hard. This is clearly the kin
d of fancy furniture that is more for cosmetic purposes than actual use.
He tilts his head. “So, did you like it?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and I can feel my eyes crinkle as I beam at him.
“Good,” he exclaims, and takes another swig.
“So, what do I need to do to get a High Distinction? Or does it depend on the bar? In that case, what does Erik need to do?” I immediately wish I hadn’t said it in such a flirtatious way.
His leans forward and grins. “I’ll get back to you.” His words are slurred. My brows knit as I notice how glossy his eyes are and how his glass is swaying in his grasp. The brown liquid sloshes up the edges, nearly spilling over, like waves inside a pool.
“Konnor?” I stand up. “Are you drunk?”
“Do I look drunk?” he asks, steadying himself on the arm rest.
I peer down at him, and frown. “A little.”
He leans back in defeat. “I am, yeah,” he admits. “I didn’t expect company.”
“It's barely 12…” I say, walking around to sit next to him. He doesn’t say anything, just puts his drink down, leans his elbows on his knees and rubs his face with both palms. I know he drinks, but this doesn’t seem—What did Erik call it?—functional.
“Blesk…” He whispers my name so softly I barely hear it. “I’m sorry. If I knew you were going to be here . . .” He winces. “Shit, I’m sorry. Today is a… a bad day for me.”
“Why?” I ask.
“I lost someone today.”
“I’m sorry, Konnor.” My stomach knots up seeing him so miserable. I barely know him, but his agony affects me. He releases his face and turns to look at me through bloodshot eyes that are clearly fighting back tears. The heartache behind them makes me want to cry, too.
He chews on the inside of his mouth, and then says, “I tried to sober up for you with a shower, but, apparently, that didn’t work,” he slurs.
“It’s midday on a Wednesday, Konnor.” I place my hand on his knee, and it feels completely natural.
He opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Then he shakes his head vigorously as if to physically dislodge the train of thought. “Fucking forget about it, Blesk. Just go home.”
My mouth goes slack. “I'm judging you. It’s just… it doesn’t feel right leaving you like this.”
He grabs his glass, necking its entire content, and then brushing my hand off him. “Seriously, I’m not your fucking responsibility.”
Something about what he just said makes my heart beat hard against my ribcage.
He’s a mess, and he’s right. I should leave.
I stand and stride quickly towards the front door. Coming here was a mistake. I barely even know him.
What was I thinking?
“Blesk… Wait.” I hear a piece of furniture slide across the floor, but I don’t stop until I have my hand on the handle. He slams his body against the door, blocking my way out. He dips his head and looks at me through eyes at half-mast. “Have I fucked this up?”
“What is this?” I murmur, looking sadly at him. I don’t want to want to stay. As he said, he isn’t my responsibility. But that doesn’t stop the feeling sitting in my belly like a boulder.
His brows furrow. “This, Blesk.” The look of anguish on his face is heartbreaking.
There is a this.
Konnor is only inches from me, and his mere proximity makes me dizzy. His eyes watch every movement I make. His gaze follows me when I lick my lips, when I squeeze my eyes shut to fight back the discomfort, when I swallow hard… and I can still feel them on me when I finally look away. Although there is nothing intimidating about his energy, he still manages to make my heart race. With a strengthening breath, I glance up into his hooded green eyes. They’re so beautiful, and so… sad. I press my hand against his cheek and when he moves into my touch, we both exhale on contact.
How can I feel so comfortable, and so nervous all at once?
My whole body responds to the feeling of him below my touch. He closes his eyes as I stroke his cheekbone.
Finally, his eyes open and focus on me. “Don’t leave, Blesk. I’m sorry I’m being a dick.”
I give him a little smile. “You’re not half as corny when you’re drunk.”
He relaxes his head against the door behind him and breathes heavily through a crooked smile. “I’ll work on that for you, Miss Bellamy.”
Konnor gets worse over the next hour, until he’s a wreck. Now I can only understand approximately a third of everything he says, but that’s not going to deter me. I’m not leaving him. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Every part of me is needed right here. He lost someone and his grief is drowning him.
✽✽✽
After I reluctantly watched him down another three drinks, I managed to convince him to lay down and rest in bed, but he didn't want me to leave. So, I joined him. We’re laying on his mattress, facing each other, our knees pressed together. My hair is fanned out around me, and he won’t stop touching it. He stares at his finger as he twirls a strand around it until there is nothing left to twirl, releases it, then starts again. He’s in his own head, and barely conscious of me. He’s back there, with the person he lost. I understand that look.
I can’t explain what’s happening, or why I have this urge to be with him, or why I feel liable for him…
He gazes into my eyes. “The sun… your hair reminds me of the sun.”
I stiffen slightly, but then shake off the memories associated with that comparison. “That’s really corny, Konnor.”
He splutters on a laugh, “Haven’t you heard? My new middle name?”
“Konnor “Corny” Slater,” I giggle.
A huge drunken smile engulfs his face. “God, I love it when you make that sound,” he says with a pleased sigh. I immediately giggle again, a nervous reaction. Then, we are both smothered in goofy grins, and neither of us does a thing to hide them. Now he’s back here. With me.
“You’re beautiful, you know that,” he gushes. “And I’m a dickhead like acting.”
I giggle at his backwards sentence. “Yeah,” I smile at him, “but this isn’t you.”
He cocks a brow sceptically. “And how would you know that?”
“I don’t know, but I do. You haven’t disappointed me yet, Konnor,” I murmur, refusing to fight against whatever force is making it impossible for me to take my eyes off him.
He chuckles. “Well, you mustn’t have set the bar very high for me.”
I bite my lip and speak through my silly smile. “All you have to do is show up.”
A knock breaks through our world, and we both freeze, narrowing our eyes questioningly at each other. My heart skips a beat when his eyes widen with realisation, and he jolts up, grabbing his head at what I can only imagine is a pretty immediate head rush.
“Konnor!” A girl’s voice barks through the door. “I don’t like waiting.”
“Shit!” he mutters, jumping to his feet. He scavenges around the floor for a shirt.
Pembie.
He slides a shirt over his head before turning to look at me, guilt blanketing his expression. I act nonchalant, with a quick shrug of my shoulders, and a feigned smile. He isn’t buying it. The discomfort I feel spilling through my veins seems to be reflected in his eyes. I need my head examined. What kind of girl visits a guy she barely knows, who is involved with someone and totally drunk.?
“Konnor! For God’s sake.” She bashes harder on the door.
He holds his hand out for me to take, but I wave him off dismissively and slowly follow him into the living room. I don’t want to be touched right now. Konnor half-runs, half-stumbles to the door, and unlocks it. As Pembie barges in with a huff, Konnor lowers his head, his eyes meeting his feet. She halts when she sees me. Folding her arms across her chest, she rocks back on her heals, cocks her head, and scrutinizes me from head to toe.
“What’s going on here, then?” she hisses.
“Blesk, was . . . dropping someth
ing off.” Konnor gestures towards the envelope on his couch. He barely looks at her but he offers me an apologetic glance. I wish he hadn’t because the backs of my eyes are stinging with the need to cry and I don't want him to see. This was a huge mistake. He has a girlfriend. What was I thinking?
She glowers at him, her eyes scrolling down his body, clearly disgusted by every crease in his clothes, by his messy hair. “You’re drunk.”
“Yep,” he waves his hand indifferently. “What’s new, hey?”
She leers at me before flashing me a patronising smile. She grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head. She isn’t wearing a bra and I’m so shocked that my mouth drops open. I’m frozen in place, staring at her perfectly sculpted torso, muscular abdomen, tan skin, and breasts far too perfect to be real.
She throws the shirt at him. “Well if you’re drunk, lover, I’ll go on top.” She winks at me. “Just the way he likes.”
I’m going to be sick.
Konnor growls under his breath, rubs his temples, and grimaces at her provocative demeanour. I need to get out of here. An old enemy, confrontation, ruled my entire childhood, and I avoid it at all costs. I’ve had enough of it for two lifetimes. I couldn’t move faster towards the door. Before I know it, I’m literally running to the elevator. I gasp for air. My stomach is twisted into knots. Tears are forcing themselves from my eyes as I repeatedly hit the elevator button even though I know it won’t make a shred of difference.
I’m happy he’s not alone. I’m happy they’re together. She can look after him now. I’m happy about that. I’m really happy for them both.
✽✽✽
Crossing my legs on the vinyl cushion in a corner of The Basement Lounge, I pretend to read the textbook I have open in front of me. I eagerly wait for my salad when my phone rings.
“Where are you?” Elise says through the phone.
I sniffle quietly. “At The Basement Lounge.”
The Basement Lounge can only be accessed through an underground tunnel between the library and the bookshop, and for some reason that made me feel safe. Hidden. Booths and couches line the room’s perimeter, and standard tables are scattered throughout the middle. The low ceiling appears to be carved from natural rock, the carpet is fire-engine red. For 1:30 on a Wednesday the restaurant is surprisingly busy. I sit alone with a Caesar salad on its way, torturing myself by thinking about what happened earlier.