Looking for trouble | Vol. 2 | Jamie Bower fanfiction

21 | Movies lie

"Can you pour me one?" I ask without really knowing why. Was I gonna sit down have cup tea with her? Not exactly what I had planned, but... there you go, I reckon. Without a word she reaches up to open the cupboard, placing another cup firmly on the table. Then she taps the cupboard where she found the tea sorts indicating for me to pick myself.

I start forward walking up next to her; she quickly moves to do other things. I hear the clatter of pots as I stare into the mountain of teas. I take my time picking something I have never in my life heard of, feeling dare-y.

I lean my hip on the kitchen counter facing Skye, who has already sat a pot of water to boil. We stand there in utter silence. No yelling or shouting as I would have thought, no nothing, just plain looking. We just bloody stand there, across from each other like fucking roman statues. Like we're in our own little bobble of absolutely nothing, sort of like we're waiting for something, anything to kick start a hurricane of... something. Shouting, crying, snogging who knew? All can do is wait for it!

I take the opportunity to look her up and down, she is wearing a pink flowered long pyjama bottoms and a white tank top with a loose baby blue shirt over it. Her hair is sort of just a stack on top of her head. Her eyes are red rimmed and not a shred of makeup taints her face. She looks horrible, tired, groggy, sad and the look she giving me doesn't help. The sadness shining in her eyes almost an actual physical touch on my body, seeping it's way under my skin. I am still in my flip-flops and long swim trunks, only a dark blue sleeveless shirt over, it is rather cold actually. Her hands are crossed in front of her chest and she looking at me with that intense sad look. She doesn't glare or stare, she just looks. Almost sort of observing me, like I was a rare thing to me found.

I hear the dim scratching sounds of the telly and the mutter of voices oozing from the living room. The kettle starts shaking and burbling more and more. The water on the stove far behind still silent and plain.

I have this odd tension in the pit of my stomach, the way she is looking at me, as if she isn't even expecting me to leave or say anything. Like she knows there isn't anything I can say. What we did to each other, it was unfair and mean. We had both acted on instincts we didn't understand at the time. We had both made the exact same mistake. We had doubted the other ones love. And the doubt itself was like poison to the other, unconsciously confirming their fears. Even when we tried to talk about it, it always ended in primal tangle of limbs, either one way or the other.

I suppose on some level you can say I had acted out of love even, not being able to handle the fear of her not loving me, which after all hadn't been misplaced. She had never told me so, I just thought she had. But she had just kissed me, shown me her unfathomable desire. We kept acting like kids, very grown ones, but kids, children none the less. And her being unable to express herself, she had gone to another, who didn't require the same upkeep, if you can say so. It hurt to think about, it hurt to think that she could love somebody else. It was selfish to thinks so, but the truth.

But the odd sensation in the pit of my stomach remain, spreading into the room creating tension. Like we were both magnets with constantly switching poles. Pushing and pulling, pushing and pulling away from each other. But we both knew if we got to close, there would only be pulling and a lot of it. Positive and negative pulling at each other.

The next I know, things are happening very quickly. The tension exploding. Skye jerks up from her leaning position against the big window facing the street outside, mumbling "fuck it," under her breath. And before I even get to blink her lips are pressed to mine eagerly. She wavers against me standing up her very tiptoes to reach me, I crane down almost instinctively wrapping my arms around her small frame. Relaxing and relishing in her body shaped against mine. Her hands wrap themselves in my hair, drawing me to her. I tumble backwards towards the door behind me, kissing her as if in a frenzy. We walk through a narrow unlit hallway, the blood in my ears boiling, tuning out all other sounds. I feel the press of door behind me opening and suddenly I am slumped on my back in a big double bed. Skye is sitting atop me, a leg on each side of my chest. The room is dimly lit, a yellow light flickering softly against my eyelids, but it's not sunlight. A candle is lit on the bedside table. The only light in the room. I know the bed is made of painted white wood, the sheets a silvery grey, a small table on each side of the bed. A heavy dresser across in the same white painted wood. A floor lamp occupies the left hand corner, being a screen a bright shade of pink. I know this from my previous late night visits to this very room. I know nothing of the room's cleanliness