A deafeningBANGjolts us both upright. The earth resumes its orbit at what feels like double speed, and the oxygen comes flooding back in, snatching away our stolen moment with a suffocating clarity. I crash, hard, back into the friend zone…reality. The one where Zander is my best friend, and the cold truth starts to seep back in– that’s all I will ever be.
Chapter Seventeen
Zander
Age 18
My knees groan in protest as they absorb the shock running up from my feet. The ladder would have taken too long to navigate, especially with Jules lying in front of it. So without further thought, I propelled my body over the railing, landing not so graciously, or quietly. Dread settles low in my stomach, from what I’m about to find, but also what I’ll return to after. The fact I was relieved when Jules climbed up to my bunk hasn’t gone unnoticed, nor has the way I found it so easy and comforting to touch him and command his attention. For a brief suspended moment, everything just felt right. Like the satisfaction of scratching an itch, or knowing everything is in its place. It’s the same feeling I get from the routine I’ve created for myself. The most frustrating part of it all, however, is that I didn’t need time to adjust, I didn’t need to retrain my way of thinking, and let the stillness settle. When I looked down at Jules, everything just stopped– the noise, the anxiety, the world.
He holds my peace like I hold his hand; steady, safe, and secure.
“MOM?” Jules calls out, racing down the ladder just as I reach the door. “WE’RE COMING…” I don’t wait for him to catch up; I just act on instinct, almost ripping the door from the frame. The sound of it bouncing off the wall, and Jules’ muttered–fucking hell,is nothing more than background noise to the sound of my beating heart echoing like a bass drum.
I’m met with heavy resistance as I try to push the door open, with each shove, the door just bounces back.
“Theresa, can you hear me?” I shout through the small gap. My question is answered by a groan from below. That’s when I see her slippers hanging half off her feet. “Theresa, can you shuffle forward a little so I can get in there and help you?” It’s nothing less than a plea, my voice wobbly and full of fear.
“Is she okay?” Jules asks from behind. “Mom! Just try and move forward a little.” Anchoring my body against the door, I push forward again, slowly, so as not to hurt her, ushering Jules past with my hand to squeeze through the gap.
“When you get through, try and move her away from the door, carefully, so I can get through, okay?” I direct him. His body is sandwiched between the door and me, the blue eyes staring up are filled with so much fear, it chips away a piece of my heart. Jules gulps and nods in understanding before squeezing through the crack.
“Mom? Zander… She’s awake, I just think she’s a bit dazed. I’m gonna try and move her now.” I hear the familiar groaning as Jules manoeuvres her across the carpet. “You’re okay, Mom. I’m just moving you away from the door,” he explains, softly. I manage to push the door further, enabling me to slip through the gap. The scene that greets me brings bile flooding up my throat. Jules’ body is curled over Theresa protectively, her weak hands grip his arms loosely as he whispers over and over–
“I’ve got you, you’re okay.”
“Heyyy, what are you doing down there?” I ask, crouching so she can see me better. Theresa’s warm brown eyes meet mine as a fragile hand reaches out, wrapping around my own.
“Too much Baileys, and not enough common sense,” she replies, huffing out a laugh before breaking into a coughing fit. Jules helps her sit up, rubbing her back and checking her over with worried eyes. Whilst he tries to convince her to get checked out at the hospital, I take a look around the room. There’s no empty glass to corroborate her story, nor is there anything littering the floor that could have caused the fall.Why is she lying?
“Zander, honey, could you grab my dressing gown, please?” Her eyes burn into me, almost worriedly, as though she can hear my unravelling thoughts.
“Sure,” I manage in response, swallowing thickly past the doubt and uncertainty.
Between the two of us, we managed to successfully hoist Theresa up onto her shaky legs and get her settled into bed.
“Why don’t you go make your Mom a cup of tea, Jules? Might help with the shock,” I suggest, wrapping Theresa’s hands in one of mine so he can’t see the violent tremors vibrating right through to the bone. She looks so small and fragile lying in bed, a far cry from the woman who could usually fill a room with her smile alone.
“Yeah, umm, okay. I’ll make it extra sweet, I read once that sugar helps by–”
“Sweet tea sounds wonderful, honey,” Theresa politely cuts him off, knowing he was going into textbook mode.
I waste no time once he leaves the room, pinning her with a glare so intense she almost winces.
“Tomorrow, Zander. When Jules goes to work tomorrow, I’ll tell you everything,” her voice is weary, defeated, and small.
“Okay, but I want the truth. No sugar coating it because you think I can’t handle it, and no lies. Promise?” She nods, totally resigned.
“Promise.”
The morning rolls around pretty quickly. The weight of the evening’s events had pulled us all into a deep slumber– so deep, in fact, Jules is currently running around the bedroom with a t-shirt half over his torso and a slice of toast dangling from his mouth. How he manages to stay so lean is completely lost on me; the guy eats strictly white foods, mostly of the starchy variety. Rice, bread, pasta, potatoes–oh god, the potatoes.
“Have you seen my wallet anywhere?” His abs contract and flex as he reaches up, patting his hand along the shelf housing his anime figurines. “Zan?! I’m going to be late,” he says, exasperated. I realised, rather than answering him, I’d just been staring at his semi-naked upper body. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything– ever the polite one.
“Uhh, I put it in the tray by the door, the one labelled necessities,” I managed to answer, finding something else to occupy my eyes.
“Of course you did,” his voice is full of warmth and appreciation for my need for order. Mess is just another unnecessary load on my already heavy mind; since I can’t seem to control my thoughts, I choose to control my environment instead. Watching Jules tear through the bedroom like a tornado, however, is really fucking with that peace. My obsessive need to bring order to his chaos sees me striding across the room, coming to an abrupt stop in front of him. My fingers twitch, and my skin hums with compulsion, an overwhelming urge to correct and contain the building catastrophe– at least that’s what I tell myself. I recognise the need for calmness, the same one I get when I give an object a forever home, but also the same kind he so easily gave me last night. It’s hard to differentiate which impulse my body is acting on right now: the obsession I’ve crafted for myself, or the one standing in front of me, growing on its own.
“Let me just–” I reach up, not waiting for permission. I start by taking the soggy toast from his mouth, placing it on a nearby coaster–not today, crumbs.Jules’ eyes follow the food before finding mine again. I gently take hold of his wrist, guiding it through the arm hole of his white t-shirt, before slowly rolling the gathered material down over his stomach. My fingers glide along the flat, yet soft skin with every inch I cover. I watch, transfixed by the way they lightly skim his abdomen, fascinated by the goosebumps that follow closely behind. If I couldn’t feel the heat myself, I would be sure the hands I’m watching belong to someone else. When smooth skin turns into rough denim, I quickly take a step back, reaching for the toast and plugging his mouth with it before he has a chance to say anything. Because what the fuck even was that?
