What The People Don't See

Every Day I Love You Less And Less

The next few weeks flew past in a daze, yet they still wouldn't go fast enough for me. All I could think about was London, the gig, my plan, and Ross. Mostly Ross. It was driving me and everyone around me to the brink of insanity. I was getting multiple detentions in school for daydreaming and being 'overexcited', my dad was calling me Screwball Stella now more than ever, and even Eloise had to tell me to control myself. I had to beg and grovel to mum to get me a prescription to increase my medication but she strongly refused, saying that I was already dopey enough on my current dosage and she didn't want a druggie for a daughter. I smirked at this. God, if she only knew.

November rolled into December. There was still no sign of snow and the Christmas lights around town only achieved in making the place look more dismal. Which only increased my desperation to get the fuck out of there.

I wasn't even bothered with Cal anymore, and trying to figure out his abrupt and complete change of character. Okay, maybe he hadn't completely changed, but still enough to make me uneasy. It was almost as if he knew that my interest was waning, as if he knew that I day dreamed in class about some other boy, and not him. I sometimes caught him gazing at me intently during English, peering over his copy of Pride and Prejudice, his chocolate eyes constantly trying to catch my blue ones. I began to wonder if I had looked that creepy just over a year before, when even a smile in my direction from him was enough to make me feel euphoric. I cringed at the thought. Now his smile was just a smile, even if it was reserved for me.

I slowly realised, bit by bit, day by day, that I could describe every spare inch of his body; from the birthmark inside his thigh (the shape of a half heart) to how his hair turned from brown to gold in the evening and the little dip in his back was as familiar to me as my own hands. I would probably sooner recognise him than I would myself. What was inside? I didn't have a clue, and with the sadness that only lonely, winter mornings can bring, I was certain that I knew nothing about Calum Bishop.

And the more I talked to Ross, the more I felt I knew him. Like really knew him. As if I'd known him from another time, another life. We texted for hours on end, chatting amiably about our friends and family and what we were up to.

"What are you doing right now" he'd ask, and even if my response was something as boring as watching telly or eating dinner, he seemed to always take an interest. I learnt that his favourite colour was blue (like the sea more so than the sky), doc martens were beyond the best shoes in the world, and that it was a crime that I had never listened to Elvis Costello. We hardly ever called eachother, but whenever we did, I made him do most of the talking, just so I could feel a little warmer, a little calmer, wrapped up tight in his voice. As long as I could hear him, I was safe.

I knew I didn't love him the same way I loved Cal. I definitely hadn't thought of him in that way. But I could talk to him about everything and anything. And he would listen.

I felt guilt swarm up from the pit of my stomach whenever I thought of the plan I'd been working on ever since Josh and I had spoken alone. If it worked, it would definitely ensure El and Pete's everlasting happiness and they would forever be indebted to me as the person who united them.

But it would also drastically ruin what Ross and I had, whatever the hell it was. I needed to remind myself that El and her deserved happiness was much more important than a boy I'd only just met. And she did truly like him. Sure, she was pissed drunk the only time they ever really hung out, but that was a good thing. She always showed her true colours when she'd had a few, and she'd practically been crawling all over Pete. And whenever I mentioned his name, her cheeks went bright red and she'd stammer if she attempted to speak. It just had to be done, for her sake. Otherwise, she would go running back to Henry, or maybe even worse.

I was half asleep on the couch one night when my phone began to ring from upstairs. I decided I was much too lazy to go and get it and so let it ring on and on, until Toby popped his head around the door and chucked it at me. I was too exhausted even to moan or complain that he'd hit me right in the nose. I flipped open the screen and coughed, warming my voice.

It was much the same as it always was. Ross talked about their latest gig and song writing session and I told him what went down at school or what new hilarious inside joke El and I had made. The longer we spent on the phone, the more intriguing and intricate our conversations became. We'd jump from school to windsurfing in a matter of seconds until we were eventually talking about aliens or some other weird shit.
Still, nothing could prepare me for what he asked me that night. The question still reverberated against my eardrums hours, even days later.

"What am I to you?"

I was so caught of guard that I couldn't spit out my usual smart and cocky language.

"You're ma homie duh!" I said after a few painfully long seconds.

He was quiet and I couldn't bear it, eventually feeding him the same question.

"What am I to you?" I grinned, already expecting a snide and funny remark that usually accompanied Ross. I was given something entirely different.

"Everything."

Is it possible to retch and feel all fuzzy at the same time?