I probably shouldn’t be watching their interactions, but morbid curiosity takes over. It kinda reminds me of a David Attenborough documentary– the ‘mating’ specials.
“Ahh, come on, don’t be a wuss,” Zander dismisses her behaviour with one simple line. I almost feel bad for her; it’s not like him to be so abrupt with people. The empathy leaves as fast as it came when she pushes her hand into his, weaving their fingers together.
I don’t miss the way Zander’s eyes flick down, nor do I miss the way his body slumps, defeated and resigned against the seat as their hands lie limp between them. His gaze shoots up to meet mine, like we’re both thinking the same thing, only I’m sure we’re not. He looks at me almost questioningly, like he’s asking if I’m ok with Layla wrapping her hand around his. Spoiler– it's a hardno,but I don’t know why it's annoying me, which means there’s nothing I can do other than look away. Aside from my Mom, Zander is the only other person to ever hold my hand, and I kind of like it that way. It’s been a long time since we had that kind of contact, but I can still remember. I recall the way his skin felt soft and pillowy whenever I squeezed, and how his fingers would randomly twitch and spasm against my own.
Holding hands with Zander was like completing a circuit– neither of us lighting up until we were joined.
The bus stops at the end of my road, and we all pile off. Holly lives a few rows behind, so we start saying our goodbyes.
“Maybe we can do it again, sometime? There’s another remake releasing in a few weeks…” She glances over at Layla before adding, “Maybe it could be just the two of us.”
Do I say yes? No?All I know is the thought of going anywhere without Zander doesn’t appeal in the slightest, but I can’t bring myself to knock her confidence by saying so.
“Yeah, sounds good. Until next time, then?” My brain short-circuits as my hand shoots out between us.A handshake, Jules?
“Umm, yeah. Next time.” Holly gently places her hand in mine, it’s small and delicate and feels all wrong against mine as we stand frozen to the spot. It’s by far the most awkward few seconds of my life.
“So, do I get a kiss goodnight?” Layla’s voice drifts through the tension as I step back from Holly. Zander doesn’t reply, at least, not with his voice. I can’t look away as he takes a step closer, and closer, not stopping until the tips of their shoes are touching and their chests push against each other with each breath. My eyes focus on every subtle shift of his body– how his hand slowly reaches up and cups the side of her face, how his nose slides against the side of hers, before their lips eventually meet. I hear Holly faintly clearing her throat beside me, but I can’t pull myself out of the trance I’ve fallen into– watching as Zander’s jaw tenses with every move of his mouth, how his lips stick to hers, before pressing harder each time they reconnect. He keeps a firm grip on her face, his thumb gently stroking against her cheekbone, reminding me of how it felt against my pulse back in the cinema only an hour ago.
My face is growing hotter and hotter the longer I watch. It doesn’t feel like a rational response, but when it comes to Zander, my jealousy knows no limits. I’m selfish with him. Icrave his time and his presence just as badly as I crave the air around him. It hasn’t been as prevalent until this moment. The disruption to our little bubble has only just started, yet it feels like I'm standing in the ruins already.
“I gotta go…” Zander says into her mouth as she leans forward for more.
“Just one more…” She pushes forward again.
“Lay–”
“Alrightttt, come on, before we’re locked out,” Holly interrupts, physically dragging Layla by the arm. I know I shouldn’t, but part of me wants to thank her for putting an end to it.
“Text me!” She hollers from halfway down the street. Zander just smirks and rubs his swollen lips with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything; he just walks in silence, his mood seeming to decline further with every rub of his lips. Is he trying to rub off her kiss?
“I thought she was gonna swallow you for a second there.” It’s meant to be a joke, but I recognise it for what it truly is– ugly and spiteful. I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth, yet another thing to add to the list of unfamiliars tonight.
When we got back to my house, I left Zander to fill Mom in on all the details. I could hear him from the bathroom telling her all about the film, what snacks we all chose, and how I practically wet myself at the jump scare. What he left out, however, was the way his body reacted to mine; the unsettling yet hypnotising stare down, the way his thumb caressed my wrist, and how he didn’t let go, even when my heart had settledback into its regular rhythm. I don’t wait for him to come to bed. Instead, I get changed, flick off the lights, and bury myself under the blanket.
Half an hour passes by before I hear the creaking of the door, although it feels longer. Being alone with my conflicting thoughts and unanswered questions seemed to slow time. But I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to look at him without thinking about the way he kissed Layla. I don’t know how to stop my face from showing him how it made me feel. And I certainly don’t trust my heart not to recognise him as anything other than what he’s always been;my best friend.
Chapter Eight
Zander
Age 16
“Sixteen years old and you still can’t pop the cap off the beer bottle.Pathetic.”He snatches the bottle from my hand, using his yellowing teeth to pry the metal top from the neck, before spitting it onto the floor. “Make yourself useful and pass that leftover pizza, will ya?”
Chills run through my body as I stand frozen to the spot, my back to him. Whilst his behaviour towards me hasn’t been of a physical nature in years, his patience has been getting thinner as of late. The insults have been getting sharper and more personal, and the way he’s started ending every confrontation with a shove or a shoulder barge has become more and more frequent. I can feel the old him slipping back into place. Like the act he’s been putting on for the last five years has become too tiresome to maintain, and the rage is starting to bubble over. I’m not foolish enough to think that I can take him on now that I’m older, but he’s also smart enough to realise that it might not be as one-sided as it once was.
“I threw it out…” My voice is barely above a whisper as I slowly start making my way toward the kitchen, hoping I can find an alternative to offer.
“You threw it out?” I hate when he does this. He repeats it back like he didn’t hear me correctly, when in reality, he just wants me to admit to my failures over and over.
“I can make some soup or… Or some–” The tightening of my t-shirt around my neck cuts off the words as my body is yanked back.
“I don’t want fucking soup! What I wanted was the pizza that I left for myself last night. Where is it?” He hisses out between gritted teeth, spittle flying all over my face as he twists the shirt tighter between his fingers. I flick my eyes over to the bin at the end of the counter, my face growing hotter and my palms slick with sweat. Sharp tingles run the length of my arms, all the way down to the tips of my fingers, and my heart thrashes hard against my chest.
Blackness starts to seep into the corners of my vision while colourful dots flicker like static, matching the fuzzy feeling on my face. Just like an old movie fading to black, my eyesight starts to fade before a sudden rush of air forces itself into my lungs, and my legs buckle from beneath me. The neck of my t-shirt hangs loosely as I heave in and out, pressing my fingers into the linoleum and will the feeling back into my hands. The shadows that had blurred the edges of my vision start to recede as I watch his tired leather boots stomp across the small space. There’s clattering and rustling coming from across the room, but all I can focus on is my next breath as my heart starts to slow.
“Dad, I–”
