I lay naked with her, Emma looked exhausted but in so much peace. ‘You’re so fucking gorgeous,’ I said. Emma’s eyes fluttered open and closed as she was about to fall asleep. ‘I think we should see each other; you know more often. There’s something about you Emma, I just, there’s so much more to you that want to get to know.’
She smiled. ‘I think so too.’ I kissed her forehead goodnight and cuddled her tight until she fell asleep.
I woke up at three a.m. My mind was in a race, my heart was pounding. It was the usual three a.m. feelings. I turned on the television to calm it down. A random documentary was showing, a man with an outdated brunette haircut and a brown and white striped polo jumper was narrating on household inventions of the world, from the light bulb to toilets, to running water systems and fridges. The documentary distracted me, calming the anxious thoughts that run rampant through my mind.
What are you doing tomorrow? What are you going to achieve? Have you written everything down? Have you forgotten anything?
You really wasted today. You didn’t get enough done. What is everyone going to think of you? You’re a fucking joke that can’t get their life together. What are you even doing? What do you even want to do?
I lay back down into bed and rolled over; there she was so peaceful she hadn’t moved.
What have you done now Lucas, you know you don’t have time for this? You know you don’t have space or mental capacity for this. Don’t bring someone else into your shit. Especially someone so innocent. You are a freaking idiot. How are you going to get her out of the house early tomorrow? I’m sure there’s so much you must do.
I cuddled up to her, to feel her warmth, her slow calm breathing. It helped, for maybe a minute. My mind got lost in wonder again. I rolled over to my bedside table, carefully opening the draw so that it didn’t make a sound. I pulled out my lighter and a pre-rolled joint. I peeled myself out of the blankets and snuck out of my bedroom, just for a couple of minutes.
Chapter 7 — Her
I drove off into his exit, I think it may have been the fourth Monday night in a row I spent driving up to his house. It was five p.m. when I pulled my car over onto the street outside his house, half parking on his perfectly mowed grass. It was something we had never spoken about, but I was almost certain he had a gardener, I could never imagine him getting dirty behind a lawnmower or a leaf blower.
I walked down the stairs to his front door and before I reached it, he opened it. He stood, wearing his light blue ripped denim jeans and a plain black tee, his hair was messy and falling natural down the side of his face, he looked a little tired, but he was smiling. Sometimes it was hard to crack a smile out of him, Icould tell how often he became lost in his mind. I always wondered what it was like inside his head, how busy it really was, and what occupied his mind. I think his poker face was the stillness covering his chaotic mind.
‘Hey, you,’ he whispered in my ear as he met me on the front steps to his house. He wrapped his arms around me. I loved his embrace, his breath on my neck.
‘You’re just in time,’ he said
‘In time for what?’ I asked.
‘Sunset, c’mon,’ he said, stepping out and closing the front door. He had his keys in hand. I followed him as he walked towards his car.
He drove his black Audi inland through the trees, it was only a ten-minute drive. We didn’t talk much; I was in awe of the beauty that we were surrounded by. I was always so laser focused when I drove to his house, I never truly took in how gorgeous his neighbourhood was, living high up in the hinterland. Each home had its own rainforest gardens. As we drove, I imagined myself living inside one, what my life would be like if I was an owner of one of these houses. Waking up in my own unique haven, surrounded by open windows, pouring in the sun. Sipping macadamia milk cappuccinos on my deck overlooking the hustle and bustle of the city while I sat amongst my own greenery.
He pulled over on the side of the road, he turned to look at me, unclipping his seat belt, and smiled. ‘We’re here,’ he said. We both hopped out of the car at the same time. We were sitting at the top of a hill, parked outside a driveway. I was peaceful and the sky was gleaming pink as the sun had started to set. We were on the top of a hill, high above the city.
‘A year ago, you showed me your special place. This one is mine,’ he said, walking over to the middle of the street and sat down on the empty quiet road. He lay down flat, looking up at the sky. I was a little hesitant to join him, if there was anyone else hooning up the road, as he did, we would both be dead. But he was so calm, he felt trusting, like he had done this many times before. I walked towards him and lay down next to him. We watched the pink sky swirl into orange patterns as the moon shone brightly on our right and the sun shed its last rays of the day. ‘I used to come here to watch the sunset years ago before any houses were built. You could see views of the whole city glow underneath the moon, and the sun would fade behind the mountains. I guess it was where I always came to wind down from the craziness of the day. To take a step outside of my mind for a second. Staring out at the view and being in nature would always revitalize me. You could never leave this place not feeling great,’ he said. I loved these conversations with him. I found it beautiful, to get another small glimpse into his inner world. Each time I saw him, I would add further pieces to the puzzle of his mysterious soul. ‘I was thinking about it today. I wanted to come up here and see what it would feel like,’ he said, planting a small kiss on my shoulder.
I lay by his side and watched his eyes become lost in the sky, his lungs slowly rising and lowering with each breath, taking in the fresh mountainous air. I liked watching his eyes twitch, his body calm, I could see his fast mind move into the present. I loved watching everyone do that. I loved sitting in my favourite café watching people on the street. I people who would walk fast, on a mission to get to wherever they were going, lost in the mind of their daily to-do list. I also watched those who looked around and smiled, in awe of the beauty in the stores and the smells that lingered throughout the street. Those people reminded me of my mum. Lost in a daydream in the world, she would always be telling me stories of the things she saw behind the landscapes we would walk through, that she would later go home and paint. My favourite piece that she ever created was the one that was up for auction at the gallery before she took her last breath. It was a picture of the clouds. She showed me the final creation before it got shipped overseas. She told me it was meant to represent dreams, bringing the clouds onto a canvas in someone’s loungeroom was like picking a ball of fluff from the sky, making it your own and creating it into any shape that you wanted. She wanted all her art to represent that, a dream of someone else’s, taking whatever interpretation they wanted or needed from it. From what I remember of the painting, it wasn’t too different to image of the clouds I was staring up at right now.
‘How do you feel?’ I asked, turning my head towards Lucas.
My left hand was rested on my belly, he reached his right to intertwine his fingers into mine holding tight.
‘It feels good,’ he said, his face still as he gazed expressionless up to the sky. ‘It feels good to have you here as well. Do you ever do this? You know, just take time to stare up at the clouds?’ he asked.
I looked back up at the sky, ‘honestly, not as much as I should.’
‘Me either, I mean I used to.’
‘Same.’ I whispered under my breath, watching the white pillows move slowly above us, ‘what are you thinking about?’ I asked.
‘Dreams,’ he said. I felt a shiver up my spine, goosebumps raised on my arms, I squeezed his hand tighter.
‘Oh yeah?’ I said softly, trying not to choke.
‘Yeah, I mean. That’s what the clouds represent don’t they? I find it really funny how we always represent our nightly dreams with clouds, like why? Is it because they’re seen as untenable? Something we can’t hold on to, or they’re so high we can never reach them.’
I laughed, ‘you’ve got some deep thoughts in that brain of yours,’ I said, reaching my arm up, tucking his hair behind his ear.
‘Yeah,’ he sighed, ‘I don’t really know how to stop the overthinking. Talking to you helps.’
