Character Shorts

1

I laugh because its natural. It's an easy laugh, one that sounds like wind chimes, and it fills the air in a way that's reciprocated by my friend's flourish of giggles. I get tingles thinking about how its bridging the gap between us, dancing up above our heads, and I flash her a smile from under my fly-away fringe. She smiles happily back.

I love the way her eyes squint when she does that. I love how it causes her cheeks to flush pink and her eyelashes to rest delicately on the soft skin. I wish I looked like that when I smiled, but I'd hate to take that away from her. It's her thing, I suppose. That blissfully happy look. It's gorgeous.

It's not perfect though. I reserve the word 'perfect' for that specific look she gives me on days like these. For that stare that says, "I could sit here with you forever, and without uttering a single word, I'd still be content". For those big, blue eyes that stare up at me, flecked with silver like foam on the ocean.

I reserve it for the way she is looking at me right now. A look of needing and want. A look I know I'm returning without really meaning to, because I can feel the warmth in my cheeks as it numbs my other features. It's a hazy, irrational feeling, and I know that my expression must show it because I am beyond finding the ability to mask it. I don't care. She's glowing, and it's so very contagious.

When she leans in, I don't mean to kiss her.

I don't mean to, but I do.

I laugh because I'm meant to. It's a forced laugh, stiff like cardboard, and it sits in the air and creates a hollow between my friend and I. She returns it with a frown. A curious, hurt expression, and I let out a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding.

She had wanted it too.

I start laughing. Really laughing. A laugh that carries with it the urgency of my new found relief. She laughs a little too, but stops before I do.

She's looking at me like I'm mad.

She's looking at me like she's about to cry.

I realise suddenly that it was she who had taken the first step. It it was she who had watched me with those perfectly blue eyes and it was she who had hypnotised me with their deep and longing gaze. My eyes lock on hers, round with panic and confusion. She had leant in first.

I realise she must be very afraid.

I calm her with my touch and whisper her name. I tell her that it's okay. I tell her that it's better than okay and that she can't begin to imagine how I'm feeling right now. I smile, and in my mind its a smile as brilliant as her's.

She tells me that she loves me.

* * *

A year later, I meet you.

She's at a party, gossiping with her friends and I, forever the introvert, find myself escaping to the solitude of the backyard. Only, I don't find myself alone. I find you.

At first you say nothing. You can see that I'm flustered, an uncomfortable plus-one with no real inclination to make small talk. I know her friends, and I know that they don't particularly want me here. It's not that they don't accept me as a person, and it's not out of dislike either, but a kind of ill-inclined pettiness. It's out of a need to appear 'normal', to forget about their friend's queer endeavours, and to ignore the girlfriend who imposes on their otherwise straight-laced image. I don't get why she associates with them. Perhaps she enjoys being in the company of those less mature than herself?

She must see something in them, because here we are. They make her happy in a way that I can't, I suppose. That's a pill I'd rather not swallow.

I'm watching her through the glass when you approach me. It's weird, looking at her but hearing your voice. It's as if you've already taken her place. I turn to look at you. Had I really not noticed you here until now? It seems impossible. You introduce yourself and I do the same politely back. You hold back a smirk at how formal I sound. I fail to mention that I'm dating the girl on the other side of the door.

Of all things, we talk about the weather. It's cold. Too cold to be outdoors, but I'm stubborn and you're kind, and so we talk through chattering teeth and ignore the occasional shivers that interrupt our sentences. I like the way you speak. Everything you say I agree with, but it's not as though you're trying. It's bizarre really. It's not even like that with her. I want to ask why you're here. You're not like the others, but I'm afraid to say anything in case you ask me back, and I don't want to ruin this facade I've got going.

That's when the first trails of doubt set in.

The second time I see you, her arm is around my waist and there's no way I can pretend this time. Only, you don't seem surprised. You smile. You greet us both politely, but your eyes linger on me. I feel like I'm frozen. There's heat in my chest, burning its way out through my ribcage, but my feet are like rocks and I'm not sure I've blinked for at least a minute. You raise an eyebrow. She is saying something, but I don't hear it.

I sleep next to her that night, but my thoughts are with you. Everything is so confusing, and I'm beginning to resent ever meeting you, because at least before I thought I was happy.

You invite us to dinner the following week. She's uninterested. She doesn't know you and she doesn't understand why we were considered for an invitation. Neither do I, really, but of course I convince her to go. She drinks too much, and I end up holding her hair and stroking her back as she slowly falls victim to sleep on your sofa. We spend the rest of the night listening to her snoring, the light music from your record player not quite enough to drown her out, but its nice. We don't say a lot. A few meaningful words sprinkled amongst patches of heavy, comfortable silence. We sit closer than we probably should. We watch the moon track it's way across the sky. I want to put my head on your shoulder, but I don't think I should. I can't remember why. We've had some more wine. You look softer now, you're smiling more and you keep brushing my thigh with your own. I want to look at you, but there's a sensation in my chest that worries you might already be looking at me. You kiss me, and its good.

You kissed me, and I've never been more messed up. I kiss her. I kiss her again, and again, and again, but it's too late. I kissed you, and I can't take it back. I don't want to take it back, because I kiss her and it's not right anymore. I'm crying. I've been crying for days. We haven't spoken, but the messages you've left me let me know that you're serious.

I want to go out. Alone. I want to drink until I can't remember what I don't want to think about. Except the alcohol makes it worse. The walls in my head come down, the truth hits me like a thousand trucks, and before I know it I'm on the floor. Why am I on the floor? Why did I come here alone? Why can't I breathe?

The world is fuzzy and dark, as though there's static playing inside my eyelids. I can hear a man's voice.

"She's okay", he's saying, "We've called the number in her phone. Someone's coming for her. She'll be alright."

"She's okay." If I could, I would scoff. She is most certainly not okay. And now they've called her, of all people.

She will look after me though. She always will. She's mine, and she loves me.

She loves me.

I feel like smiling at that thought, the way she smiles. That blissfully happy look...

When I awaken, I'm on a bed. It's still dark, and there's someone next to me. Around me, actually. Their legs are tucked in mine, and their chest is pressed tightly against my back. Their hand is holding mine, fingers intertwined, and although my first thought is that its uncomfortable I don't move my hand. They're holding on to me. I fell apart, and now they're holding on, making sure I don't do it again.

I hold my breath. There are tears stinging my eyes, and God knows I've done enough crying. I move my thumb. Only slightly, an experimental brush, feeling for your rough leather, or her soft silk. I smile.

"I love you" I whisper, and the words feel like pop rocks on my tongue.

"I love you too."