“Screw them,” he grins and it makes me smile. “I don’t give a damn what they think anymore.”
He kisses me. Everyone’s watching, but neither of us notice or care. It’s just us. My eyes are closed. There’s no regrets or mind games and for those few precious moments I even manage to forget what is undoubtedly about to happen. There’s that familiar warmth gushing through me in tidal waves, seeping through my bloodstream, causing pink to bloom in my face. It’s a blissful oblivion that I willingly sink into, desperately wishing it could last.
But it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. Oblivions like that can’t last forever because if they did we would all be walking into lampposts while blissfully unaware. When we break apart, I feel a little lightheaded but stay rooted to the ground. Reality doesn’t return for a short while, even as I stare at him with my face flushed and hair escaping its ponytail.
“This isn’t the end, you know,” I finally whisper. “After I go back things won’t be any different between us, right?”
“Yeah,” he smiles a little sadly. “I guess we both just live different lives. But we’ll meet again soon, I’m sure of it.” He sounds so confident when he says it that I believe it as well.
I’m smiling as he hugs me once, before turning around and making his way back again with that goofy, sunny grin that I’ve missed. I’m still smiling – this time due to amusement – when I catch sight of Claire beaming, Daniel’s disgust and Tia’s smug face. Jenny looks startled for a moment, but then her features morph into an approving smile. I wave a hand lazily behind me in farewell as I reach the car, standing in front of Faith to simply enjoy the look of pure astonishment on her face.
“Let’s go home,” is all I say and this time – just this once – I do a perfect crinkle-eyed smile. Practice makes perfect after all.
*****
They say smiles are every language in one simple gesture. Smiling is also the easiest way to quickly gain someone’s trust (which explains a lot) and most of all a smile is the easiest way to get out of a difficult situation. It is for this reason precisely that I force the smile to stay on my face, no matter how much effort it takes.
It feels oddly surreal as the familiar musty smell of the car’s leather seats invade my senses, as it distantly roars to life and I can hear the crunching of gravel beneath the wheels. It backs out of the driveway slowly. I try not to think. However, I make the mistake of looking back and I can’t tear my gaze away. They’re all smiling and waving, even Ash, and I reluctantly do the same. It’s one last glance and I can’t deny myself that no matter how much I want to.
I stare until the house slides out of view, to be replaced by miles of greenery. ‘I’m going home.’ I distantly come to this realisation, but I feel strangely empty. ‘Things are going to be different this time’ my conscience reminds me, in some attempt to fight off the emptiness. It works to some extent. But then chocolate eyes, lightened by amusement, appear in my vision. I blink them away and return to my original task of blocking out my thoughts.
For the rest of the car ride I fill my sisters in on everything that has happened to me over the past month. They have a lot of questions, which is understandable especially considering the events of my departure. I have to reassure Dawn again that Ash isn’t a pervert, nor is he a teenage thug. Or gay.
“But what if he was just using you?” she queries, trying to find any possible excuse to dislike him. “He just looked a little dodgy.”
“Don’t say that,” I send her an impressively fearsome glare. “He would never do something like that. Just accept that there’s nothing wrong with him, okay?”
She seems surprised for a moment, before pale grey eyes soften. “You really care for him,” she comments.
“Yeah,” I whisper. It takes all my willpower to keep that stupid, fake smile up. For them, rather than me. For him, rather than me.
“I don’t understand though,” Lily chips into the conversation from the front seat. “If you care for him so much, then why did you choose to come back?”
“You guys are still my family,” I explain. “And besides, if you care for someone you shouldn’t need to make sacrifices to prove that.”
There’s a short silence after my profound words. Then, from the driver’s seat, Faith smiles. “You’ve changed, Hope,” she tells me. “And I’m – we’re – proud of you.”
It’s a classic case of Pandora’s Box syndrome: no matter how many things go wrong, there will always be something at the end that will make it worthwhile.
*****
Home is just like I remember. There’s the shoes that crowd the tiny hallway and cause people to trip, the muddy brown carpet (father had insisted on that particular carpet so that tea and coffee stains wouldn’t show up) and the rack smothered in coats. My room hasn’t changed much either. There’s my computer-from-the-stone-age hibernating on the desk in the far corner, the dusty novels that lie dormant on the crooked bookshelf and there’s my bed – the one with the ‘Harry Potter’ bedding that I never bothered to change and the pillow that is permanently dented from my various scuffles with it. Home sweet home.
I make it through dinner. I make it through recounting my various tales of valour to my eager sisters, vividly describing Cleadon Creek, the island, the meadow, even the damn oak tree that had been the start of everything. I make it through the tearful, heartfelt apologies and the promises of ‘things will be different now’, but my heart is never quite part of it. It’s nice to be home again. I’ve missed home, no matter how cramped and grubby it is. Maybe another night I can truly appreciate it, maybe I can reminisce freely with my sisters about better times, remember our parents properly. But tonight is for him.
And so, once I’m finally alone in my room, I open the window and let weak, pale moonlight streak in. I riffle around in my backpack until I pick out one particular picture that I developed the day before I left. It’s of us by Cleadon Creek, on our last day together. He’s dripping wet but there’s a grin to match the weather on his face and amusement in his eyes. One wet arm is slung around my shoulders while the other is taking the picture. I’m blatantly rolling my eyes although the small smile on my face ruins it.
It’s only then that I let my fake smile slip.
I find an empty frame and carefully slip the picture into it, before placing it on my bedside table. They say closing one door opens another. This is a perfect example. He taught me so much, he changed me more than I ever thought. I guess he saved me, in all definitions of the word. And even though I know we’ll still talk occasionally, it won’t be the same. It’ll never be the same. And it hurts.
So I lie there, and cry myself to sleep.
Epilogue: Life goes on
Life goes on, even if we don’t want it to. Wounds heal in the end, emotions fade and over time I guess we come to see the truth behind things. In the beginning, you can’t see things for what they are because emotion is in the way, clouding your perception like a dark veil. But once it fades, or at least lessons slightly, you realise that not everything is what it seems.
A week passes surprisingly quickly. I go back to school; back to the annoying chatter, the hot and stuffy classrooms and the teachers that drone on unaware that half the class is falling asleep. For the first few days, I keep my distance. It feels like I’ve gone back to my old, socially-secluded self. I keep my hand down in class, my mouth firmly sealed during breaks. I see Ash in every brown haired boy I come across. It hurts, it feels like something is missing. I’m almost expecting him to burst out of a bush at any moment yelling ‘Hah! I got you there!’ at the top of his lungs. But the bushes stay silent, and so do I.
Life at home improves, though. It seems my sisters meant it when they said they would try hard this time to fix some of the damage and make things right. They even start cooking proper meals, claiming that getting take-out every night is unhealthy. In the first week, Faith somehow manages to secure a job as the editor of a small fashion magazine. It’s a huge success. Th
at night we celebrate for a long time, but my heart’s still not quite part of it. It’s still healing.
The truth is I miss him. I know it’s for the best, that it was bound to happen, that I should have prepared myself beforehand. But how can you prepare for something like this? I miss our escapades to the lake, lying in the meadow and staring up at the clouds. Hell, I even miss his rule-breaking. But I guess reality always come back for revenge in the end. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret my decision. I love my sisters. This is what I’ve always wanted. But at the same time I love him as well, just in a different way.
“You said so yourself,” Faith tells me one night when she catches me staring at the photo on my bedside table. “If you really care for him you don’t need to make sacrifices to prove it. And if he really cares for you, he won’t stop caring just because he can’t see you every day.” She’s changed, too. I guess we’ve all changed for the better.
It’s during that second week that my changes really begin to show. I’m still healing, but I believe Ash when he said that things won’t change between us. I also have an epiphany – that he is probably happy and he probably wants me to be happy as well. This is all just assumption of course, but I hope it’s true. From the few short emails we manage to exchange, he seems to be doing fine. I feel lighter now, after everything that’s happened. I have a reason to live. I feel hopeful again. It’s funny how one person can have such an impact on your life. In that second week, I start to contribute in class. I turn in all my homework on time. And I begin to talk to new people, smile a little more.
People notice the difference. Even the teachers take note of my slightly better grades. My classmates say I look better, happier. And I am. He changed my outlook on life, ‘converted’ me as he would say. A month passes, and then another. We send the occasional email, but keeping in contact is hard when we can’t see each other in person. Then before I realise it half a year has gone by since I last saw him and somehow I’ve survived. Even though I know I still love him, I come to understand that I don’t need him with me every minute. I don’t need to rely on him for everything anymore, because he still has his life to live and now I have mine.
However, I won’t forget that summer. Every now and then, I still think about him and remember him properly: the owner of the pretty chocolate eyes who didn’t give up on me when everyone else had. And on that Thursday night, I come home to find my dinosaur-age mobile vibrating cheerfully. When I open the text there’s only three words:
I miss you.
About the author:
Annmarie McQueen is a 17 year old student, hoping to study English literature with creative writing at university. She loves writing fiction and poetry more than anything, and has recently won the Simon Powell poetry prize. Her favourite genre to both read and write is young adult and her dream is to become a successful author. Apart from writing, she also enjoys playing badminton, photography, and is mildly obsessed with her ukulele. Her favourite authors include J.K Rowling, Anthony Horowitz, Haruki Murakami, Sylvia Platt, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Suzanne Collins (author of the Hunger Games series). Like any author, she loves feedback, and would appreciate any comments from her readers about ‘Cold Water’.
Coming soon: A new YA paranormal novel called ‘Imprint’, which will be released on the amazon kindle store in the near future. To keep up to date with news about Imprint, take part in contests and read extras/outtakes from Cold Water, please follow the links below and like/subscribe to the ‘Cold Water’ facebook fan page or my website. Any support is greatly appreciated.
Summary for Imprint: Sean Lane discovers that the worst possible thing is not dying, but dying and having a psychotic spirit steal your body and impersonate you.
My website: www.annmariemcqueen.webs.com
Thanks for reading!
Cold Water Page 22