by Ali Merci
Why couldn’t she take it when he was hurting? Why? She felt his sorrow as if it was part of her own and funnily enough, it didn’t add to her burdens or bring her down, but made her feel like she now held something precious in her hands and wanted to look after whatever it was for as long as time was on her side.
It was only when Isla muttered something and took off in the opposite direction that Carmen began walking towards him. Towards Asa.
Always towards Asa.
Before she could reach him though, he started walking down the hallway, a faraway look in his coffee eyes as he lost himself to whatever was swimming around in his head.
Carmen picked up her pace, shooting out a hand just before he turned around a bend in the corner, and wrapped her fingers around his palm to bring him to a stop.
His head swivelled around instantly. His wide eyes fell on their joined hands, blinking repeatedly, as if he had a hard time believing it was her hand sitting cosily in his. As if he was looking at his thoughts materialising into reality right in front of him.
Carmen allowed herself to wonder, for a fleeting moment, if perhaps Asa had indeed been thinking of holding her hands in his.
“Asa,” she said. But she didn’t say it, did she? She more than just said it. It was somewhat of a sigh, a breath of relief. The mere calling out his name felt so, so right on her tongue.
“H-hi,” he said, still in a slightly dazed state before he came out of it. Carmen watched as his shoulders relaxed, as if she herself somehow had the power to take away what knitted and coiled his bones into heavy metal rather than the weightless nature they were supposed to be.
“What class have you got right now?” she asked, about to pull her hand away but his fingers tightened around hers, as if he’d seen what she was about to do.
“Nothing. You?”
She grinned. “I’ve got a spare too, actually.”
“That’s one coincidence I won’t complain about.” He smiled back.
“Do you believe in coincidences, though?” Carmen asked, knitting her brows together as she resumed walking towards the art room, pulling Asa along with her.
“Well,” he paused, as if giving it some actual thought for the first time in his life, “I don’t really know. I’ve never thought about it that way, I guess. But it is what it is, right? Coincidences are just that: coincidences.”
“I guess so,” Carmen mumbled, feeling a little stupid. Why was she always trying to look at the bigger picture? Why was she always on a mission to look past the surface and dig deep inside as if there was more to what meets the eye?
“Why?” Asa asked then, startling her. “What do you believe of coincidences?”
She quickly shook her head. “It’s noth—”
“—Not nothing,” he cut her off, looking down at her through the corner of his eyes, and that sideways glance made her heart flutter for some reason. It was such a normal gesture but something about the way his eyes burned when it fell on her seemed to heat up her insides, too.
“Okay.” she smiled softly. “Okay.” She stepped a little closer to him, her shoulder brushing against his arm, and the proximity made her pull in her bottom lip to bite down on the grin that threatened to explode across her face. “Um, it’s just that, I kind of believe in a higher power, you know? Like, there’s a reason everything happens. Every leaf that falls, every scrape of the knee, every chance encounter even if it’s just a Tuesday afternoon and its someone who you’ve spilt your coffee on and you’ll never see ever again, I just feel like there’s some reasoning behind it. Something bigger that the naked eyes don’t see.”
“I can relate with that,” he murmured. “Except for me it wasn’t a Tuesday morning or spilt coffee but a chilly autumn afternoon and an art journal.” He grinned down at her. “I’m kind of hoping I do get to see her though, rather than never crossing paths with her ever again. That’d be tragic.”
Oh, Asa. She wanted to lean in a little closer, much closer, and bury her face in the crook of his neck and never let go.
“We would have still crossed paths, Asa,” she told him as they entered the art room, dropping her bag on the floor as if this was her second home. Spotting the easel in its usual place at the corner of the class, she dragged it out towards the centre where it had the perfect lighting and flipped the page of the large drawing book hooked onto it to a new, fresh sheet.
She heard the sound of something being dragged along the floor and looked over her shoulder to see Asa pull one of the stools towards her until it hit the back of her thighs. His hands took a gentle hold of her shoulders, pushing her down onto the seat. He then proceeded to bring the table with all the paint supplies closer to her so that she’d have everything within hand’s reach.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, touched at the kind gesture.
“Don’t mention it,” he replied somewhat uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’re always fidgeting when I compliment you on something,” she said out loud, squinting at him and pursing her lips in deep thought.
He stopped rubbing the back of his head, and his eyes met hers, emotions flashing through them in volumes that seemed even way out of Carmen’s depth.
“You…” he said and seemed to hesitate, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he closed his eyes for a few seconds and reopened them. “I’m used to getting compliments on how good of a swimmer I am, or how I have nice cheekbones and an even nicer body.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and seated himself on the edge of the supply table, his feet still hitting the floor due to his tall frame. “But whenever you say something nice, it’s always on something that no one else bats an eye to. On the parts of me that is deemed irrelevant.”
Carmen pressed her lips together even tighter, her brows furrowing harder as she observed him. It was a while before she responded. “You know Asa,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe if more people paid attention to the inside rather than the outside, this world would be a happier place.”
“Basically, we just need a few more Carmens,” he said nonchalantly, twirling a paintbrush he’d picked up from the table in his hands as if he didn’t just utter words that struck a long-lost chord in her; as if he didn’t just make her heart soar even though she was convinced she’d been stripped off her wings the second she was born; as if he didn’t just imply the thought her perspective of beauty and this world mattered and was of significance.
Did Asa even know there was a museum in Carmen’s head with walls that were painted in shades of brown and gold with his name embedded in the frames of each masterpiece he inspired her to create?
Maybe if she told him that, he might not let everyone else’s words into his heart and let them colour him with shades of hate and cruelty.
“Hey, Asa?” she spoke just as she averted her gaze and picked up a brush herself, hovering her hand over the palette of colours on her left.
“Yeah?”
She pursed her lips and dipped the brush into the darkest shade of blue her eyes landed on. “Do…do you want to tell me what happened the other day?” Her hand began moving in wild, unrestrained strokes against the blank white of the paper. “With Isla?”
There was a long stretch of silence, but it didn’t worry Carmen because neither was it an uncomfortable one or the kind that implied it was the calm before a storm. It just felt like he was contemplating how to phrase his words.
“She was having a go at Willa, I guess,” he finally said. “And I tried to reason with her. Make her see that maybe there was just more to the story; that the two of them always being at each other’s throats was stupid and tiresome to everyone around them.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, obviously a dumb thing to do because it pissed her off,” he mumbled, his tone growing distant and uncertain. “I had the same conversation with Willa that very day when school was over, but she’s as stubborn in her opinion of Isla as Isla is about her.”
“It’s exhausting,” Carmen agreed. “I
feel like I’m the only one sticking up for Isla when Lottie and Willa are talking about her behind her back. But you know what, Asa? I’ve come to the conclusion that, at the end of the day, you and I don’t owe them anything.” She picked up another brush, dipping it in a sandy brown shade this time. “We’ve done our part as not being ignorant bystanders; the rest is up to them.”
“It’s just that…” Asa trailed off, and Carmen’s hand stilled in its movements, her eyes finding his with the desperation to grab at the opportunity of him opening up to her in some way.
“What, Asa?” She coaxed, her tone gentle.
“She said some pretty harsh shit,” he muttered, looking away and training his eyes on the nonexistent patterns his feet drew on the tiled floor of the room. “And…and I don’t know if that’s how she’s always seen me, you know? I mean, they say drunk words are sober thoughts, and I’m wondering if that applies to words fuelled by anger, too.”
Carmen’s hand lowered on its own accord, placing the brush next to the paint palette as her feet lifted her off the stool and began moving towards him. Towards Asa.
Always towards Asa.
She came to a stop just inches away from him, standing between his outstretched legs as he continued to keep his gaze fixed on his shoes.
Sighing softly, she took a gentle hold of his chin and titled his head up to meet her eyes.
“I don’t think that was the case, Asa,” Carmen murmured. “Despite the fact that I only spoke to Isla for the first time ever during that lunch period we all sat at the same table, I knew her long before that. People think that just because I’m quiet, I’m blind, too. But I’m not.” Her thumb drew circles on his chin, right below the curve of his bottom lip. “I’ve seen Isla when she’s all fired up and ready to go into attack mode. She’s the kind who goes in for the kill, but you should already know this more than me, yeah? I think she knew she had power over you because of her knowledge of your weak spots, and she wasn’t shy about pushing those buttons. That was malicious, yes. But I don’t think Isla’s always seen you in any way other than being her extraordinary best friend that she loves. She let her anger get the best of her, but that doesn’t define who you are, okay?”
His lips twitched, before lifting up at the corners into the faintest of smiles. “All right.”
“It speaks more about her character instead,” she said, offering him a smile of her own.
He didn’t speak, didn’t so much as blink an eye as his eyes burned into hers with a kind of intensity that Carmen could only relate to the sun. And then, slowly, he lifted his hand and stretched it towards her, turning his palm outwards.
Carmen stared at it, her mouth opening to ask something—anything. But for the first time, she realised that there was nothing she could say to overpower the sensation that flowed through her at how inviting the surface of his calloused palm looked.
So, she lifted her own hand, placing it in his with uncertainty and a slight tremble in her fingers because it was so much more than just letting him hold her hand in his. So, so much more.
As soon as her palm met his, she felt his fingers cover her hand and tug her forward, until their chests were just a mere breath away from making contact.
And his eyes. His eyes. Oh goodness, his eyes. They had to have been carved from the sun itself because the way they burned into hers should’ve left her blinded. Instead, she only found it harder to look away and when his other hand came up to brush away her hair from the left side of her face, she felt her heartbeat accelerate.
Her heart that’d felt a little too dead this morning was so full of life right now. She feared she might actually explode into a million little stars because that was with it was like to have Asa San Román look at you that way; it felt like you were more than just human. Like you were capable of being made of tiny little galaxies in his eyes.
That is how Carmen felt when his eyes swept over her face like he had all the time in the world; she felt like she held stardust in her veins and that through Asa’s eyes, she probably was beautiful in a way she’d never seen herself as.
He learnt forward, his thumb turning her face to the side at the same time, and before she could ask him why he was turning her face away, she felt him press his lips on her cheek.
Time stilled. Or, maybe, time still passed. And the world still went on. Maybe it was just Carmen’s heart that had ceased functioning for a tiny infinity right then.
“Thank you,” he mumbled into her burning skin.
She swallowed, her hand trembling in his. “For what?” she asked quietly, her voice hoarse.
“For existing,” he replied, and she felt his lips curve into a smile against her cheek, causing her own mouth to lift upwards.
She thought back to this morning when she’d thought it would be a release if death just claimed her in her sleep. But now, standing here, with Asa’s legs on either side of her, her palm in his, and his lips pressed against her cheek, she was glad to be alive today.
She’d thought her death seemed like a welcoming thought, but here was a boy thanking her for being alive.
35.
Broken Things
Carmen’s hand in Asa’s was probably the only thing that held him rooted to the spot instead of him crumbling to the floor because his lips were on her cheek, and his nose was inhaling her scent even though it had no particular flavour like vanilla or spice, but Goddamn, she was in his veins, and there was no denying it.
She didn’t even smell like paint, though his senses picked up on a very faint trace of it lingering around her. No. Instead she smelt like the sudden gust of wind that blew past him when it disturbed the peace of the scattered autumn leaves on the sidewalks, carrying the smell of damp earth and a pleasant coldness with it.
And then it finally clicked in his head. She smelt like a late afternoon in the fall. Somehow that was simultaneously the vaguest and yet most accurate way to describe her scent.
The realisation made him smile against her skin again.
“Carmen,” he suddenly said, pulling back, but not moving his hands from where they were; one holding her palm, and the other cupping a side of her face.
“Yeah?” she replied, her voice slightly strained and eyes blinking really fast.
“What did you mean when you said we’d have met each other anyway?”
Her forehead crinkled. “What?”
“You said that you believed in coincidences being much more than just coincidences. That there was a reason why every single thing happened, including us meeting each other. And when I told you it’d have been tragic if ours was just another chance encounter where we never got to see each other again, you said we’d still cross paths.” Asa’s eyes followed his fingertips as they trailed down the side of her face and along the curve of her neck, not stopping as they ran along her collarbones and over the hollow right at the base of her throat.
“Yeah,” she whispered, her hand still slightly trembling in his.
“What’d you mean by that?”
Carmen blinked, and Asa watched as the wheels spun in her head, causing her brows to knit together and her mouth to drop open as if she was finally about to respond.
But he wouldn’t learn her response because the door to the art room swung open right then. Carmen flinched, jumping back a few steps. At the same time, Asa’s back straightened and he swung his head towards the intruder.
Hunter walked in casually, one hand in his pocket and the other tapping away at his phone as he smirked at whatever he was seeing on the screen. He must have sensed that he wasn’t the only one in the room though, because his head snapped up, and he instantly froze in his tracks when his eyes landed on Asa fist.
His mouth twisted into a scowl, “Ah, San Ro—” but Hunter didn’t continue with his sneer when he noticed Carmen standing a feet away, his cold eyes zeroing in on their joined palms.
Asa didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the way Hunter’s thin lips curved upwards int
o a calculating, malicious smile.
“Carmen,” he said quietly, eyes gleaming with the euphoria that was found in the eyes of a predator who’d just sought out its new prey.
Asa felt Carmen’s fingers slowly loosen their hold around his hand, as if all the energy was being sucked out of her with each second that Hunter stood there.
“Nice to see you, dear cousin.” He grinned at her, no traces of mirth or affection in his gesture. “I see you’ve met our resident saviour.” Hunter nodded in Asa’s direction, keeping his eyes fixed on Carmen. “If you’re ever having trouble in school, apparently he’s the guy to go to. A huge softie on the inside and all that shit.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Asa snapped, shooting up from his seat on the table’s edge and rising up to his full height even though his mind was spinning from the discovery that Hunter Donoghue was actually related— by blood, no less—to Carmen.
But Carmen was saying nothing, and that rubbed Asa the wrong way. He’d never experienced a confrontation with her beside him, so he didn’t really know how she’d normally reacted to one, but the aloof demeanour she was slipping into just didn’t seem right.
It only further confirmed his suspicions that something was very wrong when she pulled her palm out of his grasp completely and folded her arms across her chest, pursing her lips together until they were almost invisible.
“Come on, Carmen,” Hunter coaxed. “You’re hurting my feelings now. Aren’t you going to say hi to your favourite cousin?”
Silence stretched on for a few painful moments, before Carmen cleared her throat and looked up at Hunter. “Hi, Hunter,” she muttered, her voice shaking the tiniest bit.
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” He shrugged, watching her for some time before averting his devious gaze towards a confused and lost Asa. “Damaged goods, that one,” he said, motioning with his thumb towards Carmen who just closed her eyes as if the words were too painful for her to take in. “But if you like broken things…” He let the sentence hang in the thick, tensed air before grinning once again and turning around to walk away.