Unspoken Words

by K. M. Golland

  “Shit! I’m so sorry. I didn’t know she died of cancer. I wouldn’t have picked this movie had I known. I can turn it off if you want.” I sat up and reached for the remote control.

  “It’s fine, baby.” He clasped my hand and placed it on his lap. “I want to see what happens.”

  Connor’s gentle, determined tone lifted the corners of my mouth. “You sure?”

  He tapped my nose and nodded.

  “Okay. Good,” I said, wiggling to get comfortable again. “Because I really want to know what happens too.”

  We watched the movie, and what struck me most was how vital timing was and how everything was linked to time. How you could miss meeting the love of your life at a subway station because you stopped for one minute to tie up your shoelace, or how you could fail to get to the airport in time to tell the love of your life not to leave because every traffic light you encountered on the way there was red.

  Time dictated our lives, or perhaps there were other forces at play.

  “Do you believe in fate?” I asked as the movie ended.

  He turned his head just slightly and kissed my temple. “I’m not sure. Do you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, can two people really be destined together no matter unfortunate timing or constant obstacles in their way? Is our end and the journey toward it already forged at our beginning?” I pulled away from him and sat upright. “What if our paths are already paved and stepping onto that path is more a question of time rather than navigating the subconscious detours we take to get to it?”

  He scratched his head. “Subconscious detours?”

  “Yeah, the direction we think we’re meant to take because it’s deemed the ‘right’ way.”

  “So you’re asking if what’s meant to be will be regardless of what we do or where we go?” he questioned.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Connor shrugged. “I don’t know. I used to believe fate was bullshit, the stuff of fairy tales, and that we controlled our destiny. But then Aaron died. That wasn’t his plan. He wasn’t unhealthy or reckless. He had no control over what happened to him.”

  “Exactly.” I relaxed once again, this time resting my head on Connor’s chest, pondering further. “It’s kinda creepy though.”

  “Creepy?”

  My head bounced as he chuckled.

  “Yeah. Like there’s this big invisible puppeteer pulling our invisible strings.” I sounded a ghostly “Ooooo” and suspended my arms, as if I were the puppet in question.

  “When you do that, yeah, it’s definitely creepy.”

  Connor’s ravenous hands tickled my ribs until I was curled into a ball on his lap, begging him to stop, my heart pounding.

  “Enough. I can’t breathe,” I cried out, laughing.

  His grip morphed to a dull but soothing massage, his fingers kneading the muscles in my neck. Our eyes locked, and I instantly relaxed in his arms, his chin-length auburn hair falling forward to curtain his dimpled cheeks and warm, grey eyes. I let out a long breath then sucked in another, because that’s what Connor Bourke’s love-filled expression did to me—it drew me in like the moon to a tide and left me feeling safe, calm, and loved.

  “It’s also sad,” I whispered, reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ears.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because if Aaron hadn’t died, I wouldn’t be in your arms right now.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily, his lips parting. I waited for his words, but then … sometimes they never came.

  “Fate would have you in my arms regardless, Eloise.”

  Blinking, I allowed what he’d said to seep deep into my bones because I wanted those words imprinted there, forever—an eternal reminder that he and I would always be together, no matter what happened.

  “I hope you’re right,” I said, stretching up to meet his lips, gently coaxing them open with my tongue.

  He groaned and his jaw relaxed, granting me entry, the subtle taste of pizza and Coke a delicious addition.

  “Mm …” I mumbled. “I’m so glad we like the same pizza.”

  Connor deepened the kiss, and I couldn’t help but giggle and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, always wanting more. Never satisfied. Thoughts of giving him my virginity in that moment drifted across my mind. I was ready. I wanted to. I wanted him. We’d been together for four solid years, and I knew he wanted it too. He’d said so, a few times, while remaining sensitive to my true readiness.

  Reaching down to the hem of my t-shirt, my intent was to guide it over my head, but then the movie credits rolled, and the sound of Celine Dion singing “When I Fall in Love” filled the room.

  “Oh my God, I love this song!” I blurted, jumping off his lap.

  “Huh? But … your top—”

  “It’s so beautiful. The lyrics. Her voice.” I swayed my hips from side to side, my eyes closed, the song consuming me.

  “It’s nothing special.”

  “Nothing special?” I ignored his uninterested tone and sang along. “Sing it with me. I’ll do Celine’s part, you do the guy’s part.”

  Connor grabbed a magazine from the coffee table and flicked over a couple of pages. “Na, I’m good.”

  “Pleeeeeeese,” I begged, cutting short my plea to belt out the chorus.

  He laughed, but I didn’t care. He was the singer, not me. “I’ll sound better if you sing it too.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.”

  “Ugh! Fine. I’ll show you my boobs then.”

  He snapped the magazine shut. “Deal.”

  Smiling, I flicked up my t-shirt, the movement swift.

  “That’s cheating. All I saw was your pink bra.”

  I rolled my eyes and repeated the motion, this time slower, seductive even.

  “I’m still not seeing boobs. Lose the bra.” His voice was rough, like gravel, the sound heating my core.

  “I will if you sing.”

  He hummed instead, but the deep timbre of his voice was still evident. I loved his voice: the tone, the control, the rasp, and the passion behind it.

  Slipping off my t-shirt, I unclipped my bra and dangled it from my fingertip. “Sing,” I demanded, taking in his hungry stare.

  Connor stood up and took a step toward me, so I stepped back and repeated myself, “Sing or it goes straight back on.”

  Placing his hand on his chest, he sang that if he were to give me his heart it would be completely or he’d never give it. He then removed the distance between us and placed his hand on the small of my bare back, the warmth of his fingertips near searing my skin. “You have my heart, Eloise. Always. And forever. It’s the only heart you’ll ever need.”

  I believed him in that moment.

  Boy, did I believe him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Connor

  It was safe to say I was a boob-man. It was also safe to say Ellie had the best set around. Apart from her kryptonite eyes and spicy red hair, her boobs were my favourite part of her body. I could stare at them all day every day, and not just stare: the way they bounced into the palms of my hands and how her nipples slipped between my teeth when I—

  Jesus! Where was a cold fish when you needed one slapped across your face? Where was my good ol’ pal Trevor Trout? I had to stop thinking about last Friday night when Ellie and I nearly made love after watching Sleepless in Seattle, because if I didn’t stop those vivid thoughts from playing havoc with my mind and body, I’d have a rather abrupt boner in the middle of history class, which wasn’t exactly respectable. But fuuuuck me we’d come close to going all the way. The closest we’d come yet. I was ready—nervous as hell, but more than ready.

  I loved Ellie as much as I could love a person. She loved me, too, and told me all the time. She’d told me last Friday night and waited for me to say it back to her, but I won’t, no matter how much it breaks me to see her hurt when she doesn’t hear it. I don’t want her to give me her virginity simply because I ca
n say three meaningless words. To me, ‘I love you’ was worthless when spoken because love wasn’t spoken. It was shown.

  “Hey, Connor. Earth to Connor.”

  Snapping out of my love-troubled titty trance, I focussed on Lilah who was slowly waving her hand in front of my face, long black fingernails centimeters from gauging the skin on my nose.

  “Sorry.” I leaned back into safer territory. “Did you say something?”

  “Yeah. I said the answer to question four is Menes. Honestly, this is supposed to be a team exercise.” She pulled a bug-eyed face. Or maybe she didn’t. Maybe the magnification of her reading glasses lens made it look like she was eye-bugging me. Either way, it was a look of contempt.

  “Ah shit! I’m the worst history partner ever.”

  “Naaa.” She smiled and nudged my shoulder with hers. “I could do worse.”

  “You think?”

  “Sure. I could be partnered with Matt.”

  We both scanned the classroom until our eyes landed on Matt Duncan. I subdued a laugh and scribbled the word Menes onto my project sheet. “Yeah, fair call.”

  “I know, right?”

  Matt was snoring like a cartoon character, his head hung back, mouth open and leaking drool. I wasn’t sure how long he’d been like that, but when the bell rang, Mrs Robichaux gave his shoulder a light shake and asked him to stay behind so that they could have a chat about his sleeping habits.

  We packed up our supplies and headed out of the classroom.

  “So, will I see you tonight at the Eastside High School production?” Lilah asked.

  “You’re going?”

  “Of course. Tristan has a minor role, so Mum and I will be there.”

  “Really? I didn’t know Tristan was into that kind of thing.”

  “He isn’t, normally. Let’s just say Mum nearly fell off her seat when he told her.”

  I tried to smile at her response, but I couldn’t help wondering why Ellie hadn’t mentioned Tristan’s involvement. The play had been all she’d talked about for the past few months. She had a lead role, not to mention she’d written lyrics to an original song that the cast and school band were going to perform somewhere toward the end of the play. She was so excited and proud, and so was I.

  “Anyway,” Lilah said, her voice trailing off. “If I don’t see you tonig—”

  “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

  The corners of her mouth lifted, her eyelids fluttering like a moth taking flight. Lilah had an exotic beauty about her: dark eyes, dark hair, ruby red lips, and thick heavy eyebrows, and her chest—like my Ellie’s—was more than ample. It captured the attention of many guys at school because she wore dark-coloured bras under the flimsy see-through material of our senior uniform shirt. The contrast was hard to miss.

  Lilah didn’t seem to care nor had she showed interest in any of the guys at school. She wasn’t really interested in anyone apart from the teachers … and me. We were the only people she talked to.

  “Connor, is everything all right?” she asked. “You’ve been preoccupied our entire history class.”

  We stopped at our lockers, which were two rows apart, and both consecutively opened the doors, placing our books inside. “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.”

  “Anything I can help with?”

  “No. But thanks.” I grabbed my bag and closed the door, the metal slamming no matter how hard I tried not to slam it. “I gotta go. I’m not catching the bus home, so I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

  “Oh. Sure. Okay. Bye, Connor.”

  Lilah waved, so I waved back and turned away, jogging along the corridor and dodging students as I made my way out of the building. I had a bunch of flowers to buy my talented and very sexy girlfriend for her first school production.

  “Tristan is Doody?” I nearly yelled, as the opening scenes to the production unfolded.

  “Yeah. Hilarious, isn’t it?” Lilah tossed a piece of popcorn into her mouth then tilted the box toward me. “You want any?”

  I shook my head, my heart somewhere lodged in my throat. I was furious. Why the hell hadn’t Ellie told me Tristan was her boyfriend in the play? Fuck! Do Frenchy and Doody have a kissing scene? I racked my brain, trying to recall scenes from the movie Grease while they sang and danced to “Summer Nights” on stage.

  Lilah and her mum had taken the last two seats in the row Ellie’s family and I were seated in, and while I tried to pretend I was glad to be there, to see Ellie perform something she’d practised for months and months, I wasn’t glad. I felt sick to my stomach, and I was pissed that she’d deliberately kept Tristan’s involvement a secret. It was very unlike her.

  “If you tell anyone what I’m about to tell you …” Lilah said, lowering her voice and popping another mouthful of popcorn into her mouth, “I’ll kill you.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t tell me,” I mumbled, my focus fixed on Ellie.

  “Well, that wouldn’t be much fun then, would it?”

  “Maybe not for you.”

  She laughed quietly then continued. “Sooooo, ever since watching Grease for the first time when I was younger, I’ve always wanted to be a Pink Lady.”

  I scoffed. “Yeah, you and every other girl in the world.”

  Every other girl except my Ellie; she was different. She didn’t follow what ‘every other girl’ in the world did. She had her own thoughts, wants, and goals. She’d told me she auditioned for the role of Frenchy because Frenchy wanted more than to wear a pink jacket and play follow-the-stupid-leader, and that’s what she’d liked most about her character. She’d also said that Frenchy got to wear lots of different coloured wigs, which had made me laugh.

  “Well, I really only wanted to wear the jacket. The jacket is cool.”

  I gave Lilah a nod and half-smiled then sat back in my seat and watched the entire production. Ellie nailed her bubblegum blowing scene—something she’d worried she’d stuff up—and every other scene she was a part of. She and Tristan also ‘nailed’ their dancing scene, his hands on her waist, hers on his shoulders. It made me cringe. In fact, every scene they were in together made me cringe. The only time I didn’t cringe was during the song that Ellie wrote. Hearing her words sung by the entire cast at the end gave me goosebumps, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

  Ellie had written the lyrics on her own, and I’d even found myself trying to apply them to song, because I couldn’t help it. I just loved mixing her words with my music and making it our own. It was one of the things that had brought us together in the beginning.

  Humming my own tune as the cast closed the song, I smiled at Ellie’s powerful presence on stage. She’d worked so hard, and despite Tristan’s involvement, I couldn’t wait to tell her just how proud I was. There had to be a logical explanation as to why she’d kept me out of the loop.

  The curtain fell, and I shot to my feet, applauding with the rest of the audience.

  “She was so good.” Mrs Mitchell sobbed, her hands clapping faster than a flapping sail in the wind.

  “I can’t believe it,” Mrs Perez said, her eyes wide. She turned to her daughter and shook her head. “I didn’t know your brother could dance.”

  Lilah laughed. “Neither did I.”

  Yeah, that makes three of us.

  The curtains lifted once again, the applause continuing. I scanned the stage in search of Ellie, my eyes finding her in Tristan’s arms, both of them hugging with enormous smiles on their faces. My heart wrenched within my chest and I swallowed what felt like a rock; they looked so happy … and close.

  Closer than I thought they were.

  “Connor.” Lilah leaned into me, her lips at my ear. “I didn’t want to say anything, but I think Tristan likes Ellie more than he should.” She pulled away and collected her cardigan from her seat.

  Her admission stunned me, and I almost didn’t reply as she started walking to toward the exit. “Wait! What makes you say that?” I asked, jogging to catch up to her and Mrs Perez.
>
  She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Isn’t it obvious? Tristan would never have done that in a million years had Ellie not been a part of it. Acting, singing, and dancing just aren’t his thing.”

  I didn’t respond. Deep down, I’d already suspected he had a thing for Ellie. She was gorgeous, quirky, and fun. Who wouldn’t be attracted to her?

  “Plus, he kinda told me so,” Lilah added.

  “WHAT?” I stopped walking and gently grasped her arm.

  She turned to face me and placed her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. He won’t cross a line. My brother is a good guy.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. I’m the bad twin, not him.”

  Lilah winked, turned back around, and walked out of the building, and after a few seconds of letting what I’d just been told to sink in to my already shambled mind, I proceeded forward when Chris elbowed me in the back and told me to move it or lose it. Maybe Lilah was right. Maybe she was the ‘bad twin’ and I had nothing to worry about. She definitely had a devilish side because, just last week, she deliberately unbuttoned the top of her blouse before approaching Casey Wilkes to talk to him, knowing he’d cop an earful from his girlfriend, who was standing right beside him at the time when his eyes abruptly locked to Lilah’s partly exposed chest. Then there was the time she kept biting her lip and twisting her hair when Mr Brown was trying to teach the anatomy of a rat.

  Lilah definitely liked to play with fire. The manipulative things she did grated my nerves because they seemed pointless, even to her and, yet, she did them just to cause trouble—trouble she didn’t seem to care about. I didn’t understand that mentality; the need to cause shit for the sake of causing shit.

  Maybe it was a cry for attention, or maybe it had something to do with her dad and his absence in her life. All I knew was that there was a side to Lilah that most people seldom saw; her true side, the side I got to see more often than not. The side she pretended didn’t exist in the eyes of most.