Ander doesn't give pieces of himself away easily or freely. To outsiders, he seems like just another broody asshole who has a war to wage with the world, but that couldn't be further from the truth of who he is. He self-loathes too much and doesn't believe in himself nearly enough for someone as confident as he is. He's intelligent, more than he will ever credit himself for, but sometimes, I think this is a curse. His brain never seems to shut off and is always running away with a new topic; I can tell it exhausts him more than it doesn't. We are alike in that way- Our minds never still and always carry us away, even when we wish they wouldn't. His sarcasm is impressive. Some may mistake this for cockiness, but it couldn't be further from it. He has a way of making me laugh until my stomach hurts and the tears escape my eyes. An ability no one else I've ever met has seemedto have. The fact that he's genuinely funny without even really trying makes it all the more better.
He has his flaws, like we all do, but his flaws are what make him flawless in my eyes. He's compulsive to the point that it paralyzes him at times. It's not the type of OCD where he's overly organized, but the type where things have to go precisely the way he plans them out in his brain, or he can't function. He has this way of wanting to feel in control of what's going on with himself. Of course, I challenge that by constantly pushing us outside our comfort zones on our adventures, but he never backs down to a challenge. He has his own set of traumas that's shaped this into motion. A lot of it stems from his grandfather's death, which happened a few months before we met. Ander was there when it happened. He and his Grandfather, Roy, were grocery shopping together, and there was an armed robbery in the small corner grocery store. He ran and hid like any eight-year-old kid would do while his grandfather tried to help the young cashier and got shot in the wake of it. He's blamed himself ever since. That darkness in him lingers as the one inside me does.
I guess that's us, trauma-bound to one another—each other's comfort and a soft place to land when life gets too hard.
He has a love for music that captivates me. I can tell he's most at peace when strumming on one of his guitars. It's like his version of heaven, and it's evident on his face every time he plays. Watching him in his element has become one of my favorite things during the summers. He's learned to play all of my favorite songs. This is surprising since our tastes in music couldn't be any more vastly different. He likes his heavy and loud music, which always sounds angry and aggressive but has a beat you can't help but get into. I like mine, where I can hear the lyrics and sing along. Although our tastes in music are nowhere near similar, I love how he lights up when he's ranting about his favorite artists or songs. Talking about music is oneof the only times Ander talks endlessly; It makes it easy to tell where his passion lies. The way he gets invested in describing it to me is beautiful. How he goes into all the little details about music reminds me of listening to an artist describe a painting.He makes it easy to get captivated, and by the end of the conversation, I'm confident that I could like his genre.
Ander may go on his rants about music that I get entirely engulfed into, but he allows me to go on mine and shows just as much interest as I do- even though I know half of what I'm saying must sound like a foreign language to him. I tend to ramble on about photography and how fascinated I am with it. None of my family has ever really understood my love for photography. They think a camera does all the work and anyone can take a photo, which always infuriates me. Not Ander. He encourages me. He thinks my quirky little obsession with old cameras is cute. He's even bought a few at thrift stores for me throughout the years to add to my collection.
We spend a lot of time talking about our dreams for the future. It's no coincidence that mine is to travel the world and become a street photographer or nature and landscape photographer. Capturing life authentically the way that it is is so beautiful to me. There is no posing, nothing planned, just appreciating life in its purest and most beautiful natural form.
I'm always ranting about how I can't wait to go to College at the Art Institute of Chicago, and Ander always tells me how he wants to follow me there. He says he will follow me anywhere.
His dream is to pursue music. I truly hope that he does. He has so much talent and such a passion for it. Seeing that deep passion for it bleed out of him the way it does anytime he picks up an instrument sends my heart racing.
Last summer, when we'd meet up in the field, we'd always seem to start our hangouts with him playing guitar. At the same time, I sat near him, lost inside the world of whatever novel Iwas invested in that day, with lots of talking and laughing in between. Then we'd go for a walk that led to me taking pictures of anything and everything, especially of him. I loved how I'd catch him looking at me with a glow in his eye and a smile at the corner of his beautiful full lips every time I'd pull away from my viewfinder, and my eyes would instantly travel back to his. I'm sure he felt the sparks ignite in him every time we locked eyes, although we never actually spoke about it. I also love that we both find our purpose when we're creating. We have the same need and desire to do something, make something, or create something bigger than ourselves, yet an extension of ourselves simultaneously.
Our growing connection was something that we never necessarily dissected and discussed. I preferred it that way, even though it could sometimes be confusing. Other girls my age would go on and on about their multiple relationships and boyfriends, and there I was, unsure what I had after all these years. I'm unsure why we never talk about it. We just don't. Maybe we're both scared that if we try to label it or "make the first move," the other will finally realize the evolution between us and be scared off. Neither of us would want to ruin the friendship that means so much to us.
Ander may be my person, but I'm almost sure I'm his. I see how he is with other people. Of course, I see. I always see him. He always has my attention, even when I wish he didn't. The way he is with others is nothing like how he is with me. With me, he always seems free. Now that we are well into our teens, girls at the beach always try to hit on him and his brother Jett. I don't blame them one bit. It makes me jealous, but I get it. He isn't bubbly and overly friendly, so most people think he seems mysterious and take it a challenge to try and figure him out. Like a puzzle, they want to try and solve it. The hot broody teenage puzzle. He always keeps their interest. He always walks overto me, telling me everything said, and chuckles uncomfortably about it. He never tells me why he wouldn't be interested in any of the gorgeous girls who try their chance at getting with him. That's the weird part of our friendship. We share so much with each other, yet we both hold back.
Today is our last day at the beach house, and we are leaving within an hour. My parents are arguing in their bedroom, per usual. I had just finished packing my bag to head back home when I heard the front door slam, then their bedroom door shortly after. I can hear the muffled sounds of their arguing through the walls of the beach house. They always think we can't hear them, but they are much louder than they realize. I'm not even sure what the argument is about this time. Everything was smooth sailing less than five minutes ago.
With a huff, I sling my bag over my shoulder and shut the door to my room after doing a quick double-take on my way out. I love this place so much, and I always hate it when we have to leave. I say a silent goodbye and head outside to put my things in the truck. As I begin to make my way down the long stairwell outside, I stop abruptly when I catch sight of Liam coming up. Taking a deep breath, I hug the side of the staircase in an attempt to distance myself from him as much as possible. After a few steps, we are side by side. He stops his movement and grabs my arm, stilling me next to him.
He leans in close to me and whispers hauntingly, "I saw you last night with your stupid little boyfriend from next door. You let him kiss you?" He laughs maniacally, laced with venom, causing shivers to run down my spine. "I always knew you were a little slut!"
"No, Liam! I—"
Everything happens so fast. One second, I'm standing upright, avoiding his glare, scared out of my mind. Next, I am face flat on the concrete at the bottom of the staircase. I hear that sinisterlaugh of his, the one that always sends chills up my spine. Shaking off my backpack, I roll to my side, wincing at the pain radiating through my body. I turn my head to glance at him, and he's already gone.
"Via! Via! Are you okay?" I look up to see Ander kneeling, assessing me from head to toe and ensuring nothing is broken.
"It's nothing, Ander; I'm fine," I say as I attempt to scramble to my feet and visibly shudder at the throbbing ache in my right ankle.
"You are not fine. Let me help you, and then I'm going to kick Liam's fucking ass."
My breath hitches.He saw.
"Ander!" I shout his name as a command. "Please, let it go.," I say with a sigh, my voice low now.
What is he even doing here? We weren't supposed to see each other today. We never meet on the last day as we hate saying goodbye. We would always hang out the day before and go to bed knowing we wouldn't see each other again, but we always pretended we would so that we wouldn't have to say goodbye. Since we both got phones when we turned twelve, we talked daily. So, we made it a rule. No goodbyes. Goodbyes always hurt too much.
Ander wraps his arms around me and helps me over to the truck. Everyone else is still inside, so we are alone. I slide into the back seat of my dad's truck as Ander hovers over me.
"Can you move it?" He asks, looking down at my already swollen ankle.
"Yes, I told you, it's all good!" I say exaggeratedly as I wiggle my foot back and forth, holding my breath to prove my point and not let the pain show.
He lets out a breath as his eyes meet mine. He begins to search my face, and he leans in. "You have a little scrape on your forehead," He swipes his thumb over my forehead, wiping awaythe little bit of blood that is there. His hand lingers, cupping my face, and my eyes close.
Ander pulls my chin to face his and begins to lean in slowly. My eyes flutter open to meet his as I feel his minty breath dust across my lips. Lips almost touching, I softly push at his chest, denying us what we both obviously want.
"You have to go before they come out. Thank you for helping me."
"V," He tries to object, reaching for me again, but I hold a hand up to stop him.
"No goodbyes," I say softly.
