Fractures

by M R Field

  My dreams knew when to trap me. They always knew when my mind was unguarded.

  I reach the last step and turn my head towards the back, double checking that all the lights are off. The front door opens, and my hand grips the railing as my foot swings back and forth in front of me. If I fall on my face, it might knock some sense into me as the dirty thoughts have arrived.

  Holy shit.

  Theo is in leather.

  And tight jeans. Not boy-band tight, but nice.

  His hair is brushed back as he strides towards me, and I try in vain not to check him out, but my eyes fail me. His black boots stride over the floorboards, and he holds a helmet in each hand. His leather jacket is open at the collar, which gives me a glimpse of the dragon head that I know covers his shoulder, ending just under his collarbone. He looks hot. Enough to make me crave him.

  Our arrangement is complicated. We started in a mad rush of long-awaited passion but have yet to give ourselves a label. I couldn’t admit to being anything more than sexy-time buddies. Being more to him means the chance of one day meaning nothing to him when this all eventually implodes.

  “Hey.” He reaches me and holds out a helmet. “For you.”

  A warmth begins to tickle my lower stomach. If only I’d sewn that arrow on my shirt pointing down to my nether region--by the way my pulse is ricocheting, I could imagine that my pheromones have now carved one onto my skin. Yes, Theo, I want to attack you. Screw the helmet and the bike, I can think of other things I would rather ride.

  I shake my lusty thoughts away. He has been distant lately, and we don’t need this. The leather is causing my inner hussy to go nuclear, and we have barely spoken. Another chat about boundaries to my vajay-jay is seriously needed.

  Dammit. Can’t a girl catch a break? I reach for the helmet, and his strong cologne warms me. Clutching the helmet between my fingers, I step down to the floor, grab his zip, and pull it up. Tapping his shoulder, I step past him and head towards the front door, putting distance between us and my bed.

  “So, where are we going?” I ask, swinging the helmet in my hand, my footsteps springing into a near skip, my eagerness as flippant as a child’s. The spur of adrenaline begins to curl within my fingertips, channelling my lust for him to change into a hunger for speed.

  His solid steps shuffle suddenly as he races past me. We both laugh as our old teenage selves make a run for the front door. Moments like these remind me of when we’d hang out by the river near Trice’s house and muck around. We were so young then, and had no weight of the world on our shoulders. Now, it seems we both carry enough weight to cement the planet.

  Theo charges through the door as my other hand reaches into my satchel to get the keys. As the door closes behind me, I notice Theo’s helmet is already on as he sits on top of his Ducati, starting it up. I lock the door and follow suit by putting my helmet on and climbing on behind him. I wrap my arms around him and press against his back. The vibrations feather through me as feelings of excitement stir again in my lower belly, and I run my tongue along the inside of my mouth. I want to hold him like this all the time. It is hard to keep the friend line when all I want to do is rip that leather off his hot body.

  He pulls from the curb, and the thunder of the exhaust roars to life. We glide through the streets of North Melbourne as my arms tighten around his waist. The buildings whirl by as we weave in and out of traffic. As the tyres reach the freeway, Theo revs the bike even more. The wind continues to blow against the sides of our bodies, and I rest my head against his back, with the hustle of traffic gliding along with us. A while later, we turn off the freeway, and I look up to see a sign to Dandenong Ranges.

  A short time later we ride up the mountainside itself, winding through the roads. I close my eyes for a moment as the curve of the mountain begins to make me feel ill. After growing up in a flat-arse town, where the only elevation was a two-storey building, windy roads are quick to make me upchuck. I take deep breaths to help the sickness calm down a bit.

  “Almost there,” Theo yells against the wind, and I nod against his back. I clench my eyes shut for another moment, and the bike begins to decelerate. I sigh in relief and rub my helmet against his back.

  I brave the moment, open my eyes, and find us driving up slowly into a car park lined with small hedges. A sign reading, “Sky High Mount Dandenong” lines the rotund wooden building in the distance.

  Theo parks the bike, and I flick my leg over and climb down. I loosen my helmet and then take it off, my eager lungs embracing the clean, fresh air. As I face towards the city, Theo stands next to me and takes his helmet off. He locks both in his carriage and walks towards the fence line where several telescopes are mounted. Peering into one, he glances around before he steps back for me to have a look.

  The view is incredible and picturesque. It’s still light; however, looking down into the city is still breathtaking. As I continue to scope the city, I hear Theo clear his throat behind me and mutter, “This is where I can breathe when I want to forget.”

  My head moves back instantly as the need to hold him overwhelms me. There are many moments in my life that I wish I could forget, while others tragically hold onto me. Looking at Theo’s sad face now makes me feel like all my troubles are insignificant in some way. We are just two broken shards that don’t seem to want to cooperate to repair.

  I peer over the length into the ranges and take a deep breath. Turning my gaze to him, I ask, “Hey, wanna go base jumping? We could try to hire some packs and launch. Perfect way to erase your mind.”

  A small smile touches his lips as he leans forward and looks down. “Sure.” The smooth tone of his voice shivers across my skin. “It would feel liberating until”—raising his hand, he points it down over the ledge—“until you hit that tree and that tree … oh! And that tree over there.”

  “But you wouldn’t be thinking about your problems, now would you?” I wink, as he shakes his head at me.

  “True. I’d just have new ones. Some that would require plaster and intense physiotherapy.”

  “Oh, imagine if you got a splinter in a really unfortunate place?” I tease.

  He turns to me and leans in, his smile widening to show me his straight teeth. “Don’t you have a nurse’s costume somewhere?”

  Oh boy. His green eyes stare into mine, and heat climbs up my neck. I swallow my lust down for a moment, because really, climbing him at a tourist attraction is not the plan. In fact, I had been going to attempt not climbing him at all until he turned up looking like a biker’s dream. I pause to answer for a moment and then draw the tip of my tongue across the bottom of my lip. Who am I kidding? If you want to play, I’ll play.

  “Yeah.” I flick my labret and watch his eyes follow the trail of my tongue. “I have two, actually.”

  He raises his eyebrow as I turn my shoulder and move around him. “But I’m hungry, and I’ve heard they do awesome dessert here. So, get a move on, Lone Ranger. I have a crème brûlée to demolish, and it ain’t gonna eat itself.”

  “The panel shows the woman in the embrace of another man. The man stands, with the heart in his chest beginning to shatter.”

  TTE

  THEO

  “Nice work, Theo,” Trin mutters through a mouthful of prawns, as she twirls her fork in her linguini. “This is super yummy.”

  I smile at her and bite into my steak, enjoying the chargrilled taste. The clear windows to our side us a great view of the city below as the sun begins to set. I slice through another piece of meat as a wet fleck brushes my cheek. I pause and raise my hand to wipe at it, and as I draw back, Trin’s cream sauce covers my fingertips. My eyes move to her face, where her big doe eyes stare back at me in shock, the remnants of pasta hanging from her cream-lined lip.

  “Sorry,” she mumbles as the cream drips onto her chin. Mirth fills her eyes as her gaze trails over my cheek, her jaw working slowly to finish her mouthful. “What?” she quips as I continue to stare at her.

  “Just making
sure your mouth is empty in case you cough on me.”

  She narrows her eyes and tilts her head. “Whatever. I’m not that much of a klutz.” I raise my eyebrow at her. “Okay, maybe a little.”

  “Considering all the crazy shit you’ve done, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”

  “Don’t knock it till you try it, dude. I still have to jump out of a plane.”

  I sit back in confusion, surveying her face. “I thought you already did that?”

  “Nope.” She shakes her head, looking down into her pasta as she twirls her fork. “I jumped out of an air balloon. There was a deal on, so I picked that.”

  “With a parachute, of course,” I add.

  “Of course, you idiot. But there are some people who have done it without it and have someone catch them.” She pulls her fork up towards her mouth, her eyes twinkling at me. “Now, that would be a fucking adrenaline rush.”

  “Don’t even fucking think about it,” I warn. “Dudes who do that are unhinged as shit.”

  She chews slowly, studying my face for a moment before raising her left hand to wiggle her fingers in front of her. “Don’t stress, Nancy boy, as if I’d trust these pixie fingers to be caught by some goof.”

  “Plus, you’re a control freak,” I add, enjoying when she stiffens in her seat. She’s anything but in control. Especially around me. Well, in some areas that is.

  She loosens her shoulders and pokes her tongue out at me for a moment, and I laugh.

  “Look how well-behaved you are in public,” I taunt. She lowers her fork to the side of the plate and folds her arms in front of her.

  “Is that a challenge?” Her eyebrows dance at me.

  I don’t know what it is about her that has me wanting more. Always more. Yet, when I reach out to her, her walls go up. Sexually, we’re explosive, but emotionally, we remain impenetrable. Too caught in our past to confront it. But I want more. If I have to tear her walls down, I’ll do it. Brick by brick. I rub my thumb across my chin and study her for a moment. All the things I’d like to do to her … It has been almost a month since I’ve been inside of her. My pants tighten at the thought. An idea strikes me as I tap my finger against my chin. “Plane is higher than the air balloon. You still want to do it?”

  Her eyes widen in excitement as she wiggles on her chair. “Fuck yes!” she squeals.

  A gasp is heard from the neighbouring table. I glance over to the couple and wince. Trin ignores their discomfort and rocks more excitedly in her seat. Can I jump out of a plane? Probably not. But I’m sure this fiery little fairy could convince me to go through anything if she tried, just by breathing.

  I lean forward to tell her my idea, but the stark piano chords sound from my pocket. Almost instantly, our moment has vanished and is replaced with discontent. My body stiffens, my skin tightens, and the need to throw my phone takes over. I pull the phone slightly out of my jacket pocket behind my chair and flick the mute switch.

  “Who’s that?” Trin asks, leaning forward.

  I sigh. We were having just what I needed and that prick had to ruin it all. “My father.”

  “Oh.” She frowns. “How is Obi-One-Cunt-Obi going?” she asks, lifting her wine glass to her lips. “Still pleasant? Has he learnt to shit a skittle rainbow yet?”

  The tightening of my shoulders dissipates. The anger that carries along my shoulders evaporates into thin air.

  “Not sure I’d want to see that,” I admit, shuddering at the thought.

  Trin licks her bottom lip and smiles before taking a small sip. She knows of the home life I had, and in an embarrassing way, was often some of the cause behind it. “You still waste your time with that busu?” he’d said once, when I left to go to university. He was never happy with my friendship with her. In his eyes, she distracted me from my role of pianist prodigy.

  “I’m sure I’m still one of his favourite people.” She looks down at my bare forearms under the hem of my T-shirt. “He must love the ink. Especially the dragon.” Her voice oozes with sarcasm.

  My lips twitch as I look down at the scales on my right arm. I run my finger along the blue ink that I remember having to specially order. Six months to have it done, and worth every scrape across my skin and incessant buzz of the tattoo machine.

  “He hasn’t seen any of my ink, actually,” I tell her honestly, my finger tracing the scales that coil into the inner side of my forearm.

  Her small hand reaches over and stops my hand in its tracks. “Really?” Her bubbly voice lowers to just above a whisper.

  I raise my eyes to her face and grimace. “Haven’t seen him since after your mother’s funeral.”

  “Oh.” She presses her lips together.

  “Yeah, well … we had a disagreement just before I left to come back.”

  “Far out, Theo. It must’ve been huge. I know we’ve …” She stops, realising the time when that happened. When she pushed me out of her life. Taking a moment, she sighs before continuing, “I knew things were tense, but I didn’t realise. I can’t think about that day without wanting to cry. You and I were …”

  Ripping each other’s heads off? Sparring daily?

  Her hand squeezes my arm as she discloses, “I feel like a shithead friend for not knowing about that argument. I just figured you guys were distant as he was an arsehole.”

  I shrug and shift back in my seat. Her hand slips from my arm as I distance myself. The pain my father causes is all too familiar. He is the point of the dagger that scratches at my skin, cutting it deeper and deeper. Five years ago, Trin had kicked me out of her life, but I’d worked my way back in. Fuck, did I work for it. Without restraint, memories of that disagreement reappear, like an old wound that won’t heal.

  I pull my closed suitcase down from my bed to stand beside it and take a quick inventory of my room. The sheets and bedspread sit neatly folded at the end of my bed, as they do each time I visit, while blank walls stare back at me. No traces of my teenage years are left. No sign that anyone lives here. A hotel would feel more like home. My drawings, sketches, and random band posters have all been taken to university, where I have made my dorm room my own. Ever since my grandparents died a few years ago, I have been dodging through time, waiting for the day when I would be old enough to never return. Both their deaths had been a shock, occurring only a couple of months apart. I can honestly say I think my grandmother, Oba-chan, died of a broken heart. There is no reason to come back here again. I first came back for Trinity, to remember her mother. But never again will I step foot into this room.

  I roll the case out of my room and into the lounge. My father stands by the mantelpiece, waiting. The back corner of the room is now bare from where the piano used to be—a reminder of my family’s betrayal of my true father’s identity and the hollow life that I led as a result. I roll the case to a stop beside me and wait for him to speak. Our relationship may rest in Shitsville, but the politeness that’s been ingrained in me is difficult to wash away.

  He turns and looks down at my suitcase without any expression lining his face. “You have everything?”

  “Yes.”

  He nods quickly as I reach for the handle of my suitcase.

  “I will call you when I arrive there.”

  “You have all your books?” he asks, clearly thinking that I’m still a child. “You must study daily, although I do not believe that you need a lot of time to do it for your course.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Architecture is not on his list of “approved” courses. Six months into it, and so far I am loving it.

  I’m not going to stand around for any more lectures. He lost that privilege when he tried to fuck up my life two years ago. He can’t expect me to be kind to him, when all I got was a hollow pseudo father who lied to me and chose to make me feel insignificant. I will never forgive him for keeping my identity from me.

  “Okay, so if that’s all, I’ll go, as the road ahead is a big trip.” I turn and begin to roll my suitcase towards the back doo
r when his voice tears through the room.

  “You still waste your time with that busu?”

  My feet freeze to the floor as I stiffen my shoulders.

  “She is nothing. You cannot be friends with her. Her trash will stain you.”

  My hand tightens on the handle as I refuse to look at him. “Why is she trash? Because her parents were happy?”

  “They were low-class,” he sneers, his feet shuffling along the carpet behind me.

  “We fucking buried her mother today, you disrespectful prick.” Fuming, I turn around to face him. His face is set in anger, but I know it isn’t half as angry as my own. Stepping towards him, I let go of the suitcase handle. “They worked hard and were happy. They loved their daughter.”

  “Love does not equal success. Dedication and discipline amount to it.”

  “What is the point of this, old man? Has this house made you more hollow than you

  already were?” My tongue loosens. “I was dedicated and disciplined, and what did that achieve?”

  “Watch your tone,” he scolds. “You will be successful, even if the profession is menial.

  Your little drawings might actually become something. She will amount to nothing. Just like her mother.”

  Not even the anger I felt on the day that I found out he wasn’t my real father enraged me like he did in that moment. My fist curls voluntarily, and in a split second, it tears through the air like an electric wire and smashes into his cheek. He stumbles back, his hand gripping his face as I point at him.

  “You gave up the right to tell me how to behave when I found out my life was a fucking lie.” Tapping my finger against my chest, I thump against it in anger. “If you had told me earlier, maybe I could have understood why I was such a burden to you. My mother’s actions were not mine. I was innocent, and you took it out on me.”

  He grunts in response before I turn and march away, slapping my hand around the suitcase handle as I pull it quickly with me towards the back door. I smack my hand against the screen door as I push through the frame.