the other Son

1999

The weekend came with a clear blue sky and the promise of warmth and summer in the air. That day one still needed a proper jacket and a hat but soon they'd shed their layers like caterpillars turning into butterflies.

Ever since she'd asked Peter after French class whether he would like to venture into town with her there was a violent swarm of those butterflies in her belly. She hadn't thought he would say yes but he did to her utter surprise and she was lost on what to do next – her plan hadn't gone further than asking him because he would surely decline, wouldn't he? The butterfly-feeling was foreign but not unpleasant, a bit like being at the highest point of a rollercoaster and any second the waggon would plunge downwards.

She had a hard time containing the ridiculous grin on her face, especially since the day of their date – was it a date? - approached swiftly.

On Saturday morning during breakfast even glancing in Peter's direction was almost too much and Elise looked at her imploringly while she pushed the eggs around on her plate, feeling too nauseous and giddy with excitement and nervousness to eat.

The world was suddenly full of colour, everything was brighter and more vibrant and she felt invincible without having to wear an armour or cutting her hair or immersing herself in literary worlds.

When Peter waited for her at the place they'd previously agreed on, every last doubt was wiped from her mind – he was there. His smile was shy and they both didn't know if they were supposed to hug or what to say until they both began to laugh out of embarrassment and afterwards everything felt natural, like breathing, like they'd done nothing else than walk next to each other to the bus stop all their life.

"Audra!"

The moment was ruined by her name being called and she almost didn't want to turn, wanted to grab Peter's hand and run, flee, leave reality behind forever.

Ultimately, she did turn around and furrowed her brows in displeasure.

Reverend Murray was heading their way hurriedly, the gravel crunched noisily underneath his leather shoes.

"Audra," he repeated audibly out of breath and glanced over at Peter. "A quick word?"

Peter nodded and shrugged, half and half, and ambled further down the gravel path to give them some privacy. She knew there was longing in her eyes as she watched him walk off, the distance filled with fear and doubts once again.

"You're friends with him?" the young pastor asked with his head cocked to the side like a confused puppy.

She gave an impatient nod. What was it to him anyway?

Ever since he'd laid his disgusting hand on her thigh and exiled her from the chapel with his mindless gesture she hadn't talked to him, hadn't looked at him during mass. There was still a voice niggling at the back of her mind that she was overreacting and it was only an innocent touch nevertheless her skin crawled and she had the desperate urge to curl in on herself whenever she thought about that moment.

"I-" Reverend Murray paused and stared at Peter's back down the path with hostile eyes. "Do you think this is a good idea? With him?"

She wanted to laugh at his face. He was jealous. Jealous of a kid because that kid had more chances with her than he'd ever have all his life. It was amusing and deplorable and she should probably inform another adult about it. Though for now she enjoyed the sheer power she had over him, the power to make him suffer.

"I like him," she said sweetly, innocently. Batting her eyelashes like all those pretty girls.

Reverend Murray nodded sceptically. "Alright. Just be careful, I guess. He's no good company for a girl like you."

This time, she couldn't contain her laugh or the scoff at the ridiculousness of his statement. "We're just going into town, Sir."

"Alright," he amended with a forced smile. "Have fun then."

"Thank you, have a nice day."

Briskly, she whirled around and caught up with Peter who welcomed her with another shy smile and a questioning look on his handsome face.

"What did he want?"

She got lost in his accent for a second and scrambled to come up with an explanation. "Oh, just if I want to read something during tomorrow's service." She pulled a face to indicate she'd declined.

Peter nodded, worried expression easing. "Come on, we don't want to miss the bus."

She grinned, an explosion of fluttering butterflies in her belly as he grabbed her hand, interlaced their fingers – like it was nothing, a casual action although it was everything – and pulled her down the path to the front gates with a broad grin of his own.

They had read Les Miserables in French class last year and even though she hadn't particularly enjoyed the book she still had marked the pages with her favourite quotes – a habit she couldn't quit similarly to how her father couldn't quit smoking. And now, in the soft spring sun, she remembered one of them.

To love or have loved, that is enough. Ask nothing further.

Peter looking at her like that, with his boyish grin, accent on the tip of his tongue, eyes full of joy, was more than enough for her.

Peter who chose her over Creon fucking Crawford. It tasted sweet like revenge and made her grin even more.