Lucky Scars

by Kerry Heavens

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ve almost spent the whole night, so what’s the difference?”

  Ziggy shrugged. “I guess, but you need to sleep.”

  “That’s the plan. Now come on; I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  Ziggy was silent as he followed me down the hall to my bedroom. I switched on the lamp, then took my things into the bathroom to change for bed, and when I returned, he was perched on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands.

  “You okay?” I asked, threading my fingers through his hair to urge his face up.

  He nodded and offered a small smile.

  “Bathroom’s free,” I told him, and he quietly got to his feet and disappeared through the door. I settled myself into bed, turning down the empty side for him, and as I waited, I tried not to think about the fact that someone was in my bathroom getting ready for bed or the fact that they were about to slide in beside me. This was simply more practical than the sofa, which had already happened, I reminded myself. Ziggy was my friend, a friend who needed me and this closeness, and I wasn’t going to let him down.

  Just a friend.

  I wondered why I felt the need to keep reminding myself of that when anything else had been out of the question up until now.

  I looked up to find Ziggy standing in the doorway watching me.

  I gave him a half smile, and he pushed himself off the door frame and crossed the room wearing his t-shirt and his boxer briefs. His jeans were folded in his hand, and he set them on the floor beside the bed before sliding in beside me.

  The air seemed thick with… it wasn’t dread or fear, I reasoned. I had nothing to fear, nothing was going to happen between us, especially after the weight of what he had confessed tonight.

  Why was I even thinking especially? I chided myself. There were no circumstances in which anything would happen. There was no especially.

  Perhaps it was guilt? We both had reason to feel guilty for seeking comfort in another, after all, but this comfort was nothing to feel bad for. After so long, I think we were both due some comfort, right?

  I sighed.

  “You want me to go?” Ziggy asked softly, knowingly.

  I turned to him, “No, of course not.”

  “You sure?” He frowned.

  “I’m positive.” I snuggled down into my pillows facing him, trying to show him that I was completely comfortable having him in my bed. “Could you turn off the lamp?”

  He reached out and clicked the switch, and the light in the room turned from warm to softly cool as the dawn reached in. He settled down beside me, staring at the ceiling, and I watched him in profile for a while until, suddenly, he turned his head to face me.

  “Thank you for tonight. I’ve never— No one—” he faltered, then swallowed. “Thank you for being there.”

  “Thank you for trusting me enough to let me be there.”

  He lifted his arm to stroke the hair from my face, and even though I was certain it wasn’t an invitation, I shifted under his arm and cuddled into his side.

  His arm stayed raised for a beat while he warred with his own feelings that I was sure matched all of mine, then he relaxed and draped it around my back, holding me in place.

  It was…friendly comfort, something we had both denied ourselves for far too long. It felt wonderful.

  I attempted to close my mind to anything else before the feeling of dread I’d started to have in the pit of my stomach grew into something that would have me running for the hills.

  Friendly, comforting, warm. Nothing more.

  Nothing. More.

  I could keep telling myself that, but in the dim early morning light as his thumb stroked softly over my back, something stirred inside me. And it wasn’t the kind of stirring I could quell by pressing my thighs together or reasoning with myself. This feeling wasn’t sexual, or practical; it was much, much worse.

  It was a spark in the frozen depths of my heart.

  I awoke with a start and immediately realised I was alone. I listened out for signs of life in the flat, but everything was still. I closed my eyes, feeling disappointment I wished I wouldn’t feel. So he’d got up early and left? So what? He never intended to stay. He probably had loads to do at home; and besides, last night was hard for him. He was probably embarrassed too. I could think of a hundred reasons why him being gone when I woke up was logical and fine and absolutely expected, and not one of them made the feeling that I was disappointed not to wake up beside him go away.

  Fuck.

  I was beginning to acknowledge that there was this thing hanging over me. If I thought about it, it had been there for a while, but it had become hard to ignore in the last twenty-four hours. I knew deep down that Jonathan had awoken a part of me that I thought was broken. My body responded to him in ways I was not able to control and it disturbed me to be feeling those things again. But this…this was something more. Jonathan had awoken my body, but Ziggy had awoken my heart and there was no way to ignore it.

  I had to try though. I had to because even if it was something I wanted to entertain, which it was not, it was the last damn thing Ziggy needed right now. Nope. It wasn’t a thing.

  It. Was. Not. A. Damn. Thing!

  Except that it was.

  It was a feeling, and it hung over me, waiting for me to invite it into my heart and mind. Well, it could fuck off. I turned my head to the side so as not to stare at the ceiling where the feeling seemed to be lurking and caught sight of myself in the mirror. Ugh, that was no better; my reflection looked both judgmental and defensive, simultaneously.

  “Don’t you judge me,” I growled at myself, looking away before I could reply too. Jesus Christ, I was out of my mind. I turned my head in the opposite direction, and my eyes landed on a single turquoise paper star sitting on the bedside table.

  Ziggy.

  I sighed, smiling at the touching gesture. I was an idiot. He was telling me thank you for looking after him, for being a friend, for just being there, and I was disappointed because I wasn’t wrapped in his warmth when I awoke. I was so selfish. I had no business having any feeling other than friendship towards him. He needed that in his life just as much as I did and thinking anything more could come of it would wreck it for both of us.

  I was his friend. Best friend, in reality, despite the short time we’d known each other. Even if I felt more deep down, I was also his boss, and I needed to get on top of this shit before it spilled over into our work.

  I looked over at the origami star from across the bed and rested my head on the empty pillow to reach across to pick it up. Before my hand even got half way there, his Ziggy smell surrounded me, and before I knew it, the feeling was back.

  I threw myself back onto my pillow and tossed the covers over my head, pounding my hands and feet into the mattress in frustration. “FUCK OFF!” I yelled at the unwanted feeling from under the duvet.

  “Okaaay…” I heard it reply.

  Wait, what?

  Tentatively, I peeked out of the covers and found an amused-looking Ziggy standing in the doorway bearing two cups of coffee in a cardboard tray and a bag that I assumed contained some kind of breakfast.

  I laughed nervously. “Not you.”

  Ziggy looked around the room and then back to me. “Who else is here?”

  “Uh, just a…um…fly,” I answered hastily. “It was buzzing around.” Then I added, “If you see it, kill it.”

  “Righty-o,” Ziggy chuckled. “I got croissants and coffee. Get your arse up. I had an idea I want to sketch, and I need your input.”

  I squinted at him, then changed the angle of my head to scrutinise him. “Why are you so perky? I thought you’d be hungover this morning,” I frowned. He drank enough whiskey to bring down a horse. “And tired.” I didn’t know what time it was, but it sure as hell wasn’t perky o’clock after staying up until dawn. And I wasn’t going to even mention the melancholy I was expecting him to be feeling after the events of the night.

  “I am. This is
me hung over, up with the birds and full of energy.”

  I pulled a disgusted face, feeling every drop of the sympathy whiskey I consumed last night pounding in my temples. I moaned. “We went to bloody sleep with the birds. Can’t you be up with the…I don’t know, some later kind of animal?”

  “Sloths?”

  “Yes. I’ll get up with the sloths.” I snuggled as I spoke, having no intention of getting out of bed.

  “It’ll hit me later, don’t worry. Right now, I need to draw, and I have coffee. Come on,” he demanded, and the next thing I knew, he was taking hold of the corner of my duvet.

  I didn’t even get the chance to issue a warning before he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, my duvet trailing behind him.

  I lay stricken on the mattress, aghast. “Well, that’s just rude,” I huffed and leaped up to go after him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  To say this was against my better judgement would be a lie. At this point, I think it was clear my better judgement was out the window. Ziggy had insisted on buying me dinner and somehow coerced me into going back to his place with him to grab some things, so he could sleep at mine again and work late, then be ready for work tomorrow.

  Working together in the lazy Sunday vibe of my flat while we recovered from the night before had felt so natural, I’d let him talk me into it. Never mind that I was still trying to ignore the unwanted feeling I was experiencing and the dreadful realisation that it might not actually go away. What if it was my new reality? What if I was feeling something again?

  It took us almost an hour on the tube to go back to his flat, and the whole way, Ziggy was talking animatedly about the character that he had just created. It was so amazing to watch him in his flow that I had managed for the entire train ride not to think about what a bad idea this trip was. Going to his flat was probably enough of a mistake with the way I was feeling, but knowing that the purpose of the trip was so that he could collect his things for another sleepover at mine was utterly insane. I found it easier not to dwell on what that meant for the sleeping arrangements. I could hardly give him the sofa now that we were comfortable platonic bedmates. Ugh!

  “Before we go in…I’m sorry,” he said, stopping in the stairwell of the rundown council tower block.

  I couldn’t figure out which thing he was apologising for. Maybe it was the odour on the stairs or the climb up because the lift was out of order, apparently, not for the first time. Or perhaps he was warning me not to expect too much of his flat. Actually, I didn’t care. My only thought on the condition of his living arrangements was confusion. I knew for a fact that he earned enough money not to be living like this. Hell, he was so sought after as a freelancer, I knew taking the salary I’d offered was probably a step down, and even on that, he could afford to be living better than me.

  “About what?” I managed. I was certainly not judging him or even feeling sorry for him; I was just confused, that was all.

  “You’ll see,” he sighed, stopping in front of the first door along the landing, which had peeling dusty yellow paint and a cracked window pane.

  He put his key in the door and took a deep breath before turning it. “Dad, I’m home,” he called out.

  Dad? He lives with his parents?

  “About fuckin’ time,” yelled a gruff voice from inside.

  Ziggy moved inside, and I followed, eyeing my surroundings with deepening confusion. If this was his parents’ home, he certainly had the means, and he definitely had good reason, to have left it by now, and he probably had enough money to bring them out of here with him.

  We rounded the corner and stepped into a living room that was in keeping with the block it was situated in. The faint smell of dust and mildew hung in the dingy air, masked only by the heavy aroma of stale cigarette smoke. I was shocked I’d never smelled it on Ziggy’s clothes if he was living in this place. The curtains were closed, and I suspected they were never opened. Faded and frayed furniture shared space with piles of stuff, stuff which looked neither wanted nor needed, and judging by the dust it collected, was never used. Takeaway containers littered the coffee table amongst empty beer cans and an overflowing ashtray.

  “Where the fuck you b—” snapped a man far older and more dishevelled than I could ever have expected Ziggy’s dad to look. It looked like we had interrupted his sleep…or perhaps his death, now that I got a good look at him. He paused mid-sentence and looked beyond Ziggy to me, eyeing me in a way that made me slightly uncomfortable. “Well, well. Alright, treacle?” He leered. His heavy cockney accent adding and removing sounds from his words as he pleased, making it sound like “Awwrigh, treak’le.”

  “Dad, this is Bea,” Ziggy said, completely ignoring his dad’s suggestive gaze. “We’re not stopping.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Jones,” I offered as Ziggy crossed the room, heading into a small kitchen and switched on the light. As the fluorescent bulb flickered into life, the light added to that of the TV, which had been the only source of light in the room.

  “The pleasure is all mine, sweedart,” Ziggy’s dad crooned, not attempting to get out of his chair. He put his hand to his face to conceal what he was about to say from Ziggy, who wasn’t paying him the slightest bit of attention as he unloaded the small bag of essentials, like milk, bread and eggs, that he had picked up at the convenience store before we came up. “Don’t waste your time with this layabout, treacle. He ain’t even got a proper job.”

  “That’s rich coming from you,” Ziggy scoffed from the kitchen. Obviously, he was more tuned in than I suspected.

  “I’m retired!” he bellowed back, rising slightly and indignantly in his chair.

  Ziggy rolled his eyes and muttered, “Retired from what exactly? Signing on?”

  “I’m entitled to that money. This is a welfare state, you know.”

  “Yeah, for those who need it,” Ziggy spat.

  “Cheeky git.” He turned his attention back to me. “I have what they call a workplace injury, love. I’m signed off work indefinitely.”

  “Pft,” Ziggy blew out audibly from the small kitchen. “You didn’t get being bone idle from a workplace accident.”

  “This lazy fucker plays video games and calls it a job.”

  “I pay my share so you can sit your lazy arse in that chair all day and watch TV, so keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Ziggy’s dad muttered something harsh sounding under his breath.

  “Come on,” Ziggy said, turning to head down the hallway. I smiled weakly at his dad and followed Ziggy. He lead me to a closed door, which he unlocked silently and held open for me to enter the room. It was like stepping into another world. The air was clean, the walls were white, and while the tiny room was full of possessions, everything was ordered and seemed, well, loved.

  He closed the door behind us and lifted the handle upwards, which seemed to seal the room like an external door seals a house. It explained how the atmosphere of the rest of the flat had not been able to permeate this space. Ziggy truly seemed to have isolated himself in every way, and it left me even more surprised by his decision to take my job.

  I looked around the room, taking in the basic décor, the neatly made bed, and the shelves upon shelves of sketchbooks, art books and pieces of technical equipment even more weird and wonderful than those he had moved to the studio. It was very clear that his entire existence centred in this clean but cluttered room.

  Ziggy watched me take it all in and smiled. “You didn’t think I lived like him in there, did you?”

  “No, I—” I stopped, not knowing what to say. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Why are you here? We both know you don’t have to be.”

  He shrugged. “The old man can’t look after himself.”

  “But—” it was really hard to say without sounding judgmental, so I just went for it. I figured after the previous night, we were probably in a place where I could question something as huge as this. “You could afford—”

  “I
know,” he scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “But it wouldn’t do him any good. He’s a leech. He takes whatever he can get. He will always take whatever he can get. The more I have, or at least the more he knows I have, the more he would take.”

  He moved towards a small wardrobe and began packing a few things he would need.

  “So you pretend you have nothing?” My voice sounded incredulous.

  He looked at me and seemed so resigned to these facts I couldn’t believe that he didn’t know where to begin. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

  He opened the door and locked it after me, then stopped at a small bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush from the cabinets on the wall. As we made our way back through the main living area, his dad looked up at us.

  “Where the hell are you going now?” he growled.

  “Out,” Ziggy threw over his shoulder as we headed to the door. “I’ll be home tomorrow night.”

  “And what am I supposed to do until then?”

  “Not my problem, old man. I’m sure you can think of something.”

  “But I’m running out of beer!”

  “Try water. I hear it’s good for you,” Ziggy chuckled, and as we left the flat, he let the door slam loudly behind us.

  We walked to the station in silence and sat side-by-side on the tube for several stops before I turned to him.

  “Don’t,” he pleaded. “If you point out how bad it is, it’ll just make it worse. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I really don’t have any choice right now.”

  “It’s okay,” I reassured him and reached over to squeeze his hand in mine. “I’m not judging you. I just want to know what I can do.”

  Ziggy laughed. “You’ve done more than you could ever know, Sparkles. My life is just fucked, that’s all. I’ve learned to accept it.”

  Ziggy pulled me into a little Japanese place I’m always passing on my way back home. We both ordered steaming bowls of ramen to ward off the cold, then Ziggy began to talk.

  “I told you my mum was a career groupie, right?”

  I nodded, sipping the warm, spicy broth.