Wonderwall

by Soars, M. H.

  The blood drains from my face, and breathing becomes impossible. “What do you mean they’re gone?”

  “They died in a car crash, honey.”

  I cover my mouth with my hands and try to process Dad’s words. No, they can’t possibly be gone. My body is shaking, and it feels like my heart is being crushed by the weight of the entire world. I shove the covers aside and jump out of bed. I don’t even attempt to find my shoes and put on a jacket. I have to see Sebastian.

  Dad reaches for me and stops me from bursting out of my room.

  “Dad, let me go, I need to see him.” My voice is frantic, and it matches the desperation in my heart.

  “Your mom is with him now. Get dressed and we’ll go together.”

  ☂ ☂ ☂

  There’s a police cruiser parked in front of Sebastian’s house, and when we get inside, I see two cops. One is talking to Mom in a corner of the living room, and the other is sitting next to Sebastian on the couch. I get tunnel vision, my eyes seeing nothing but him. I think the cop is saying something to Sebastian, but he just stares straight ahead, seeing nothing.

  I want to run to him, but my feet seem glued to the floor. I force them to move, one step in front of the other, and slowly, I make my way to Sebastian. The cop looks up with eyes full of pity, and I hate him for it. Sebastian always loathed pitying looks. The cop stands up, and I take his place. Sebastian doesn’t acknowledge my presence, so I grab his hands. They’re so cold.

  “Bas, I’m so sorry,” I say through the huge lump in my throat.

  I want to be strong for him, but my emotions are too powerful, and they take over, dragging me under a sea of pain. The tears begin falling, and I can’t do anything to stop them.

  I let go of his hand, to drape my arm around his shoulder and pull him to me. His body is stiff next to mine. It feels like I’m hugging a statue. Suddenly, he jumps off the couch and runs out of the room. It takes me a second to catch on and follow him. The front door is open, and farther ahead I see Sebastian. He stops short of the sidewalk and collapses on the cold ground. The anguished scream he lets out comes from the pit of his stomach, and it’s so filled with hurt, that it pierces my soul, freezing it, making me wish I had the power to absorb his pain somehow. Loud sobs rack his body, and I’m unable to keep my distance. I stride toward him and kneel by his side. I put my hand on his arm gently, almost afraid to hurt him further, like he’s a wounded animal. In a way, he is.

  “Don’t touch me! Stay away from me!” He raises his hand, pushing me away.

  I fall on my butt, and can’t help feeling a sadness that has nothing to do with this tragedy. His harsh words are like a slap to my face. I know he’s hurting and that he doesn’t mean them, but the emotion lingers. I’m devastated by the loss of his parents, too. I just want to be there for him.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder, and look up to find Mom next to me. “Come inside, honey. He needs time to process the news.”

  I don’t want to go. I glance on more time at Sebastian, at his closed off body language, and I know there’s nothing I can do for him right now. He’s shutting me out; he’s shutting the whole world out. I wipe away the tears and let Mom drag me up. My eyes land on Sebastian’s car.

  “I hid his keys. It was the first thing I did when I got here. He’s not going anywhere.”

  I let her take me back to the house, but I can’t help looking over my shoulder. My heart folds in on itself as I take in Sebastian’s broken and lost image. I can’t begin to imagine what is going through his head.

  Once inside, I see Dad having a hushed conversation with the cops.

  “We’ve contacted Sebastian’s immediate kin. His uncle will be here tomorrow. Since the Colemans have listed you as a contact in case of emergency, I believe it will be all right if the kid spends the night with your family,” the taller cop says.

  “I still can’t believe John and Janet are gone. What a tragedy.” Dad puts his head in his hand as though his thoughts are too heavy, and he needs the support.

  “Trucker driver fell asleep and crossed the median. The collision was frontal. They didn’t stand a chance,” the second cop says, and I don’t want to hear anymore.

  I go to the window and pull the drapes apart. Sebastian is still down on the ground, in the same position I left him. His head is hidden between his hunched shoulders and he’s shaking. I can hear his sobs through the closed window. Mom goes back outside and puts a blanket over him. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t acknowledge the gesture. My heart shatters for him once more. The certainty that what I’m feeling right now is not even a tenth of what Sebastian is feeling makes me hollow inside. The burning in my eyes returns, and I begin to cry anew. The tears are hot and unmerciful.

  Eventually, the cops leave, and somehow Dad manages to drag Sebastian back to our house. He’s no longer crying. His eyes are not only dry, but devoid of any hint of emotion, too. I don’t try to approach him again, afraid of another rebuff. My heart can’t take it. If only I could capture his gaze, ascertain for myself that somehow Sebastian will emerge from the darkness unscathed. But that’s wishful thinking. No one can arise from such tragedy without scars.

  ☂ ☂ ☂

  The following weeks pass in a daze. There’s no school to distract me, Christmas and New Year’s Eve come and go like they never happened. I do things, say things, and they all have no meaning. Sebastian hasn’t talked to me since the accident, and my worry for him surpasses everything. It’s all I can think about. He’s trapped in a fortress of misery, and I feel like a failure for being unable to breach the wall he’s built around himself. His armor is thick and impenetrable, and sometimes, when I catch him glancing my way, his stare is so cold, it stops my heart.

  The funeral is the only vivid memory I have of the past days, and I wish I could banish them from my thoughts. But when I close my eyes, all I can see is Sebastian in his dark suit with a blank stare, and the closed caskets. Beautiful words were spoken about John and Janet, but they didn’t seem to have any impact on Sebastian. He didn’t cry once during the service. It was when I realized the boy I loved would never be the same again.

  Chapter 12

  Sebastian

  My parents are dead. Vanished. Gone. Turned into nothing more than a pile of annihilated flesh. And it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t begged them to pick up that stupid gift for Liv downtown, they would still be here with me. Dad with his absent-minded, funny ways, and Mom with her sharp and keen eyes. Complete opposites, but so perfect for each other. The crater in my chest seems like a void, a black hole that has expanded and swallowed my entire essence.

  I dreamed about them last night. They were sitting on the patio outside, sipping wine and chatting happily. In the dream, I didn’t join them, just watched from afar, trying to capture their spirit, to understand what made them so happy still after twenty years of marriage. I wanted that for Liv and me. When I woke up, it took me a while to realize that I would never hear the sound of their laughter again, that I would never witness their captivating banter.

  Misery hits me like a bulldozer, destroying everything that is good in my life. Even my love for Liv is tainted now. I can’t stand to look at her. What once only brought me the most euphoric feeling in the world, now only makes my guilt expand tenfold. It isn’t her fault, the blame for what has happened lay solely on my shoulders, but she was the catalyst. And my brain can’t seem to forget that.

  A few days after the funeral, my uncle came to talk to me. He explained what would be my fate. When he told me I would have move to London to live with him, I didn’t even blink. He had been braced for a fight, expecting me to beg to stay in Littleton. That is the last thing I want. I need to break all ties with this place. I don’t think I’ll be able to survive if I stay and have to be constantly reminded of the part I played in my parents’ death. I asked him when we could leave, but things are not that simple. Even
though he was appointed my guardian as per my parent’s will, the court still needs to sanction it.

  I begin counting the days, and it’s the only thing I’m capable of. I don’t know what will happen when I cross the ocean. I don’t know if it will make things easier. I know nothing, only that staying is impossible.

  Liv comes to the house every day, talks to my uncle or aunt, and leaves a few minutes later when I refuse to see her. I watch her go back to her house, her shoulders slumped forward, her steps halted. Defeated. She stops halfway between our houses and glances back at my window. I don’t hide, but I also don’t show any indication that I care she came to see me. I just stare back at her, willing my heart to kickstart again, but the useless muscle is mangled beyond repair. If I’m capable of any feelings toward her, it goes unnoticed. Missing her is an ache easy to forget.

  Chapter 13

  Olivia

  How many dreams die in a day, in a minute, in an hour with so few words? A short little note and then there’s nothing. I didn’t even get the note. I got a vacuum, a blank space, an emptiness so absolute that it numbed my being, my soul. Sebastian is gone, out of my life so sudden that it takes hours for me to comprehend, to assimilate what happened. And when I do, I shatter in a million pieces.

  Chapter 14

  Sebastian - Two years later

  I pinch the bridge of my nose, and throw my head back, waiting for the magic to happen. It doesn’t take long, and boom, I’m more alert than a hunting dog on a mission. I lean back on the couch and take in the circus surrounding me. The house is filled with people, all drunk and high out of their minds. Loud music blares in the background, some new pop song that makes the girls scream and dance like there’s a pole in the middle of the room.

  I feel warm lips on my neck, and then something wet. It should turn me on, but I’m kind of disgusted. I’m two seconds away from standing up, when the owner of that sloppy mouth decides to sit on my lap. No sooner she’s on top of me, she begins to grind her hips against mine. I ignore the fact that I’m not really into her, and let her do her thing.

  I twist her dark hair around my hand and pull her head back. Her eyes are closed, and for a moment, I think she’s Liv. But when she opens her eyes again and her dark gaze connects with mine, the spell is broken. Brown eyes stare back at me, not hazel-green. I get angry at myself for allowing the delusion to take hold. I get angry at her for not being the one that I want. I push her off my lap not too gently and stand up. She yells at me, but I’m already moving. That’s the reason I never hook up with brunettes.

  I weave through the party, looking for Oliver. The unwanted memories of Liv have killed my buzz. I can use some of his self-deprecating humor. I find him in the game room, killing at a game of pool, as usual. Several girls from school surround the area, all vying for his attention. He doesn’t give a rat’s ass about them. Oliver is like me, always looking for something new, something fleeting, to take his mind off the darkness I know surrounds him too. He never stays with the same girl for more than a couple of days. What’s the point anyway?

  He slams the eight ball into the hole in an awesome and almost impossible shot, and his groupies scream in appreciation. Gag me. Why are girls so stupid? They make it so easy and then they have the gall to call us bastards. Oliver grabs the one closest to him, a mousy girl wearing too much make up and dressed like a whore, and kisses her. After he’s done, the girl stares at him with heavy-lidded eyes. She will soon fancy herself in love with him and try everything in her power to get his attention again. She doesn’t know that he has already moved on. Oliver lets her go when he notices me.

  “Bas, where have you been?”

  I ignore his question. “What’s the plan? I’m kind of sick of this party already.”

  Oliver puts a hand over his chest, twisting his face in an exaggerated hurt expression. “You wound me. My parties are legendary.”

  “Whatever. I wanna go out. Are you coming?”

  Oliver’s gaze travels around the room and then he looks at me again. He’s taking my statement as a challenge. I can see it in the excited glint in his eyes. “Let’s go to that new karaoke bar in Peckham.”

  “What about all these people?”

  He goes back to the now trashed living room where the majority of his guests are. There are empty bottles and glasses scattered everywhere. A couple is making out on the couch, and someone is passing a joint around. The smoke lingers in the air, mixing with the smell of expensive cologne, alcohol, and vomit.

  Oliver stands on top of the dining room table and hollers. “Party is over, folks. Let’s get moving.”

  There are a few grumbles and complaints, but quickly enough, the herd begins to evacuate Oliver’s Kensington home. In reality, there aren’t that many people there, maybe twenty, tops. He never invites a big crowd. He may seem carefree and relaxed, but he likes to know what everyone is doing in his house at all times. You may break things, trash things, and he doesn’t care. He just needs to be aware that you’re doing all of that.

  Oliver is not a popular rich kid, he’s an institution at the International School of London. He comes from old money, and here in the UK it means his parents go to parties at Buckingham Palace. To this day I don’t know why he decided to befriend me. I was a jerk to him when we met two years ago. I was a jerk to everyone. But he did, and now he’s my best friend, the only friend I have in this dreadful town.

  ☂ ☂ ☂

  We hop into a cab and head to The Singing Olive—the wackiest karaoke bar I’ve ever seen. It takes almost forty five minutes to get there, but I think it will be worth it. The left side of the brick building has a massive sculpture of a pair of tits protruding from the wall, and from one of the nipples an almost neon green colored liquid spouts into the open mouth of a hobo statue on the sidewalk. There’s a group of people taking pictures in front of it. I’m not inside the bar yet, and I can already feel the unique and vibrant wave of the place, humming above my skin.

  A girl named Chelsea and her friend have joined us. Both blondes, thank God. It’s Saturday night and The Singing Olive is packed, but all bars and independent clubs in Peckham are jammed on the weekends. Peckham used to be a shit hole a couple of decades ago, but it has undergone a renaissance and is currently the hottest place to live and party in South East London. There’s a line outside of the bar, but we don’t have to wait. Oliver knows the secret code of all bouncers—money.

  It’s dark and loud inside. There are paintings of flying pigs carrying little harps on the walls, and blue neon lights highlight the design details that are meant to be highlighted, like the bar for instance. The waitresses’ uniforms consist of tight shorts and tops that barely cover their boobs. None of them are flat chested. They have glow in the dark necklaces and are all wearing their hair in pigtails. My gaze follows one of them as she passes in front of me. She notices my stare and winks, but doesn’t stop. I know I could have her number, maybe even hook up with her tonight, but I don’t feel like putting in the minimum effort that would require. Besides, there’s Chelsea’s friend. She’s not as pretty as Chelsea, but she will do in a pinch.

  I follow Oliver as he walks further into the bar, searching for a place to sit. We snag the last available table. It’s all the way at the back of the open room, next to the wall. It doesn’t give us the best view of the stage, but it doesn’t matter. We’re not here for the show, at least I’m not. I just want to escape my demons for a little while.

  The party at Oliver’s place wasn’t cutting it for me. I need to immerse myself in other people’s happiness. That’s how I’ve been living my life for the past two years, either drowning my sorrows in booze and drugs, or living vicariously through strangers. There was no happiness to be found in Oliver’s house. Everyone there was just as pitiful as me.

  We order a round of shots and beer. Before the drinks even make it to the table, Oliver is already sucking
face with Chelsea. That leaves me with the friend. She told me her name back in the cab, but I can’t remember anymore. Not that it matters. I peer at her and she glances down, pretending she’s shy. I know she’s not because her hand is squeezing my thigh. That irritates me, so I don’t do what’s she’s expecting me to, and turn my attention to the stage. I also remove her hand from my leg. She’s pissed and she makes a disgruntled sound that tells me how much. I couldn’t care less. Oliver kisses Chelsea for another minute before he decides to enjoy the show.

  “Good Lord, that guy is awful,” he says.

  That’s how the next thirty minutes go, Oliver kissing Chelsea, drinking, and poking fun at some unfortunate soul who is brave enough to face the crowd. I don’t kiss Chelsea’s friend, I don’t even attempt to make conversation. I just drink and laugh at the expense of the Bozo of the hour.

  Chelsea has moved onto Oliver’s lap and I think they should get a room, not because they’re making me uncomfortable, but because I want to lose Chelsea’s friend, and I know Oliver won’t dump Chelsea before he bangs her.

  He looks over Chelsea’s shoulder. “Bas, let’s show those losers what real talent is.”

  I can sing without disgracing myself and so can Oliver. But I know that the crowd doesn’t care about that. If they smell fear, they will eat you alive and spit out the bones. Chelsea has now returned to her own chair, trying to adjust the skimpy dress that barely covers her ass. I feel her friend staring daggers at my face. I bet she wants me to go up on that stage and make a fool of myself. She doesn’t know that I’d much rather risk public humiliation than sit next to her for another minute.

  “Why not?” I shrug.

  “Hey, let’s sing something by Abba,” Chelsea says, almost bouncing off her chair.

  “Ain’t happening, luv. Why don’t you just sit tight and watch the pros?”