A can in each hand, he aims them at me like guns. Smirk and fire. The white substance, so much like snow, spills out, smothering my jumper. I squeal and dash forwards, ripping the lid off another can and firing at his back. By then he has already dodged; damn quick reflexes. The cream stains the kitchen cabinet and somewhere in the chaos I realise that Jenny will not be happy when she returns to find her kitchen covered in cream.
While I’m distracted he sneaks up behind me, blasting me in the back. I let out a strangled yell of surprise, whipping around and subconsciously squeezing my own cans. This time I do not miss and grin in satisfaction when the foam drips down his shirt.
“Not too bad,” he grins, firing again before I can yell at him to stop this insanity. I manage to duck at the last moment. I throw myself sideways, taking shelter behind the large bin. Looking around quickly, I grab the lid of the bin and hold it in front of me as a makeshift shield while he advances menacingly, shaking the two cans in his hand.
“You can’t hide behind that forever!”
Still wielding my homemade shield, I charge forwards and try to tackle him, but I fail pathetically and he easily grabs my wrist before I can lunge forwards and escape. I try to wrench it free but he holds on tight, a mischievous smirk on his face. He holds up one can of cream. My eyes widen in horror.
“You wouldn’t...”
In a flash he has disarmed me, the bin lid thrown across the room. I’m defenceless.
But before he can make another move I wrap one foot around his ankle and dislodge it, at the same time pushing his shoulder down. The can flies from his grasp as we both topple to the floor. And suddenly we are both lying in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded on all sides by a mess of whipped cream with me practically on top of him, our faces inches away from each other. For a moment, I can’t breathe. I can hear his heart beating erratically underneath me. I can see every strand of hair falling across his eyes, every droplet of cream still lingering on his face. I can feel heat radiating from him – or maybe that is the heat radiating from my cheeks – and I can see the surprise clearly in his eyes. It’s only for a moment, and then it’s over.
I don’t have time to think. My less sensible self has taken over again and I squirt cream right in his face, giving him a whole white mask and hat. He splutters and gasps. I quickly roll off of him and lie on my back, staring up at the ceiling and breathing deeply. Half of me is aware that I must look like a snowman. The other half is too frazzled to come up with a coherent thought.
“It’s a draw,” he rasps next to me, breathing heavily. We both simply lay there, the only sound our heavy breathing and pounding hearts.
“Jenny’s going to kill us,” I state, rather calmly.
He chuckles. “Yeah, I know.”
In the end though, Jenny doesn’t kill us. Somehow we manage to clean the whole kitchen before she returns; a miracle. Later he’ll say that it was all his doing and boast about how we managed to get away with practically demolishing the kitchen in cream, conveniently leaving out the fact that his atrocious scrubbing skills had hardly helped during the clean up. I won’t contradict him but simply watch in amusement as he hides the rest of the cream cans under his bed, because although I will never admit it, it was...fun.
That night, when Jenny finally does return with her usual cheeriness and announces that we’re having strawberries and cream for dessert as a special treat, both of us share a secret smile behind the oblivious woman’s back.
*****
Friday comes too quickly. It’s the day I’m supposed to meet Ben, and I wait for it with a sick anticipation in my gut. I convince myself that I’m not looking forward to another ‘date’ because the idea of being infatuated with Ben makes me want to bury my head in a pillow and suffocate myself. But I go to meet him anyway, although I don’t understand why. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.
He’s waiting at the bus stop for me, and his eyes light up when he sees that I’ve come. “That’s twice now,” he smirks. “I must be doing something right.”
I look away, biting my lip. “I haven’t told Ash,” I say.
“Good. He doesn’t need to know.”
“I’m still not sure about this.”
“Then why did you come?”
I just shrug. “Come on, are we going to do something or not?”
“Sure,” he agrees, smiling. “I was thinking noodles today.”
“Fine. As long as you’re paying.”
“Of course.” He leans down, and with a sudden bolt of panic I realise that he’s trying to kiss me on the lips this time. I duck out of the way, so that he misses. He gives me an annoyed look.
“Dinner only,” I say simply. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue back.
When I come back later that night, I lie to Ash again, telling him I’ve been with Claire. The guilt is still there, festering in me like an open wound, and I can barely look him in the eyes. I know what I’m doing is wrong. I need to stop this, I tell myself, and silently promise that I will.
Maybe then I’ll stop feeling like a traitor.
Chapter 12: Lean on me
It’s raining when I wake up.
Then I realise that it can’t rain inside, and that it’s actually my tears instead, pouring down my face like a leaky tap. I know immediately that I’m in my post-nightmare state of panic. A glance outside proves that the sky’s crying too, but I know it’s selfish to think that my tears and the sky’s are somehow related.
It‘s been raining a lot lately even though it’s the middle of summer. Apparently what they say about England is true. It is perpetually dreary and does rain at the most impromptu times. It’s almost funny really, how every other country is known for something either fascinating or at least unique. America’s got its extra-large burgers and fries and that statue of liberty. India has its special elephants, Japan its sumo wrestlers and sushi, Belgium its chocolate. And what is England known for? Posh accents, fancy British tea and rain.
Boom. Faraway thunder. And then flash flash flash come the yellow streaks that split the sky open.
For a long, eerie moment the whole room is bathed in light. I can hear my heart clearly, thudding in my ears as it tries to escape and run away just like I want to. My eyes widen and I’m struggling to breath. I can’t see the room anymore. Instead of white light, I see their white faces and glassy eyes – a gruesome image conjured up by my overactive imagination.
When it’s over I find myself gasping for breath, as though I had been forced underwater. My head is spinning and the room is blurry. I can’t tell the nightmare from reality. I’m vaguely aware of getting out of bed and crouching in the corner of the room, under the window sill, where it’s safest and I don’t have to see their bloodless faces in the reflection of the glass.
I inwardly cringe when a soft whimper escapes, as the fear and nausea rise up as one to overwhelm me. More images from my nightmare surge through my mind, paralysing every nerve in my body so that I can’t move. Another crash overhead, this time closer, followed a few seconds later by thunder. I clasp a hand over my mouth but I can still hear the muffled scream that escapes over the erratic thud of my heart. I squeeze my eyes shut and subconsciously dig my fingernails into my jeans. ‘This is ridiculous.’ That one coherent thought keeps surfacing in the chaos of my mind. But already the room swims before dissolving into rain, rain and lightning that streaks through the clouds, illuminating a certain pink raincoat, an umbrella and then a flash of greenery before a deafening screech and then just…black.
I have to blink repeatedly until that last image fades and I’m gasping in relief when the room spins back into view. I barely notice the door creaking open, the soft yet urgent footsteps, the worried voice. Eventually though I feel a presence beside me and warmth on one side of my body. There’s a hand on my shoulder. My name is being called out.
“A-Ash?” I stammer uncertainly. The still-functioning part of me realises that this shouldn’t be happening, that I can’t let
him see me so weak. I forcefully press my eyelids together, clasp a hand over my mouth to suppress a sob and block him out.
But then I feel warmth surrounding me. It’s his arm, pressing me against his side. I relax slightly. I vaguely realise that there is a blanket thrown over us. My ears throb, my eyes are blurry and my head is spinning, but I’m not cold anymore. I feel safe.
“Hope?” he whispers over the continuous pitter patter of the rain outside. “What’s wrong?” I mutter some sort of anguished plea but I’m not sure what for. In that moment, there is no pride. No more pride, no more dignity, no more barriers. He seems to understand despite my stuttering and his grip tightens. “It’s okay,” he says. “Just calm down and everything will be fine. I’m right here.”
And even though my common sense is desperately screaming at me to take notice of it, even though I know that he’s probably lying, I just nod mutely and curl further into the source of warmth. It’s comforting.
The lightning comes again followed by the boom boom boom of thunder, but even in my delirious state I can tell that it’s farther away now. I still squeeze my eyes shut though, still clench fistfuls of the soft blanket, wishing that the images, those horrible images of their pale, dead faces would disappear.
“Hey,” he tries to get my attention. I crack my eyes open to stare into his blurry face, showing that I’m listening. “Try to imagine me as something you really admire. Like, a particular photo or a new dress you like. Just focus on that and ignore everything else.” He’s still holding on to my scrawny shoulders so I can’t look away. I try to do as he says. I focus and concentrate and try to block it all out – the thunder, the rain, the darkness.
It takes a long time, but eventually it all just dissipates. There is nothing else in the world apart from him and the room around us. Gradually the pain gnawing at my insides begins to ebb away, a little at a time like thawing ice. A small, weak smile appears on my face.
“Better?” he asks. I nod mutely.
I don’t have to imagine. I don’t have to picture anything else. Because every time I try all I can see is him. And that is enough.
We stay like that. I’m not sure how long, but the time escapes us. I subconsciously lean into him and make myself as small as possible underneath the blanket, closing my eyes and trying to close my ears as well. Flashes of different memories flit past in the consuming darkness, some good and some bad. Sometimes they’re of my sisters, sneering at me with hurt and empty eyes that are windows to equally empty hearts. Sometimes they’re of my parents, doing trivial things like cooking dinner or watching TV. Those are the good memories.
I open my eyes and let the world flood back in a dizzying array of senses. He’s still sitting beside me; head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed peacefully. “Hey,” he murmurs with a gentle smile, sensing my movement. “Are you okay now?”
I can still hear the light rain outside, but the storm is over. I smile weakly and it’s a proper smile, not a fake one. “Yeah,” I mutter. “Thanks.” That word hardly sums up my whirlwind of emotions, not even close.
“I’m glad.” He snorts and shakes his head in amusement. “It’s just like you to be terrified of lightning yet love the rain. You’re kind of odd.” He smirks, because we both remember a time when I had said the exact same words to him.
“We can both be odd then,” I reply. “That doesn’t sound too bad to me.”
“I never knew you were scared of lightning.”
“Normally I’m not,” I bite my lip. “Just sometimes, after a nightmare…”
“That’s okay,” he smiles again, but this time it’s a little sadly. “You’re not invincible, Hope, no one is.”
I glare a little childishly at him. “You don’t seem to be afraid of anything.”
“Everyone’s scared of something,” he chuckles. “The truth is…I’m terrified of daddy long legs. It still takes me at least half an hour to get rid of them. It’s pathetic really.”
“They’re actually poisonous you know, but they can’t break through human skin.”
“You’re crap at making people feel better, you know that?”
I sigh. “At least you’re afraid of something that can actually kill you.”
“Lightning can kill people too,” he says. “But that’s not the point. It doesn’t matter if the thing you’re scared of is dangerous or not, look at all of the people with arachnophobia. The point is that you’re brave enough to face it.”
“That’s the problem though. I’m not brave.”
“You are,” he nudges me. “I don’t know why I know that, but I do.”
I think for a moment. “What you said was good advice,” I admit. “But you’re not just talking about the lightening, are you?”
“No, I’m not. I may not be the most observant person, but I know there’s something else that bothers you.”
I crack a smile. “You’d make a good counsellor one day.”
“I don’t know about that,” he chuckles. “Most of my ‘words of wisdom’ are stolen. Believe me, I’m terrible at this sort of stuff.”
“From who?” He gives me a bemused glance. “Your ‘words of wisdom’,” I elaborate. “Who were they stolen from?”
He shrugs. “Sometimes mum, but sometimes I get the feeling that they came from someone else, as well.”
“Ash?”
“Hmm?”
“Where’s your…father?” I have refrained from asking that question for a long time now, but my curiosity wins out. “You don’t have to answer,” I quickly add.
But he just gives me a wan smile. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he says. “If I tell you, will you tell me at least one thing about yourself? Maybe then we’ll be able to understand each other a bit better.”
Something inside me twinges at his words. “Fine.”
“Ok then, the truth is I have no idea where my father is.”
“Is he dead?”
He sighs. “I wish I knew, but I’ve never actually known him. He left before I was born. I think I saw him once when I was four or five, but that’s all I remember.”
I don’t know what to say. I feel sad for him. At least I had known my father, while he never even got the chance to do so. “I’m sorry,” I settle on. “I’m sure he had a good reason to leave.”
“I doubt it,” he chuckles bitterly, but then his features soften. “It doesn’t matter. Sometimes I wish I could meet him, at least know what he’s like, but you can’t really be sad over loosing someone you’ve never known.”
“Do you think having something and losing it is worse than never having it in the first place?”
He nods. “Maybe you miss out, but at least you don’t go through the pain of losing it.”
“You really are odd.”
“Odd how?”
I shrug. “Odd because you’re always optimistic. How do you do it?”
“Well, I don’t really have anything to be sad about,” he says. “And besides, life is short. We might as well enjoy what we can.” No wonder. I’ve heard laughing makes you live longer. If that’s the case, then I will have an untimely death and Ash’s lifespan will rival that of a turtle’s. “And anyway,” a sly grin creeps onto his face. “I still have to convert you to optimism. Or the ‘light side’, whatever you prefer.”
I stifle a giggle. “Are you always so determined?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, it was just a question. You don’t have to strain your brain. You’ll get wrinkles.”
“Sure,” he waves me off. “Like that will ever happen. You’re just jealous of my flawless complexion.” He pauses. “Anyway, stop trying to change the subject. We made a deal. Now you have to tell me something about yourself.”
I sigh overdramatically. “You’re right, a deal’s a deal,” I say. “Okay then. Even though I’m a teenager, I still really love Pokemon. Happy?”
He laughs. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Pokemon will always be awesome. But that’s not what
I was looking for. I want something more personal.”
There’s a longer pause this time. Outside, the rain has dimmed down to a light drizzle in the background. I think and process my options, but in the end I know that I only have one. I have to tell him something, because a deal’s a deal and I don’t want to add more to my bad record.
“Fine,” I sigh. “When I was young, I always tried my hardest because I wanted to prove to my parents that I was just as good as my sisters, but I guess you can’t change who you are. In the end I gave up trying to be like them because it was impossible. They were always out of my league.”
“Why would you do that, though?” he asks. “You don’t need to be like them, you should just be yourself.”
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