Overlap

Eponine

When I awoke the next morning it was early afternoon and I was lying in the spare bedroom which had, according to wine drunk Johnny, always been for me.
Somewhere between his second bottle of wine and joint he'd been saving for the two of us to share he'd confessed to getting high and writing me a letter, sentimenal and desperate for me to leave Niall for the house of fun, but that in the morning he had reread it during the come down and, on creative grounds, decided to tuck it away somewhere safe rather than post it to me. Never to be read by anyone it might mean something to ever again.

At the time I'd laughed him off, not doubting him for a moment, but now as I trod lightly across the bedroom floor, wrapped in the duvet I couldn't quite bring myself to give up on, I couldn't help but think his confession over.

I stopped in the window, fingers hesitant to touch the translucent cotton, patterned like granny curtains. I wondered if they'd left them up for me, Johnny would have known I'd like them.

Through the gap in the curtains I spied an empty street, quiet and still and sparkling under the afternoon sunlight. I chewed my cheek, rested my head against the wall and watched the birds in the trees along the avenue as they busied themselves fluttering and flapping, darting from one branch to the next. Nesting season was upon us and I smiled as I saw them dissappearimg, coming and going with twigs and clumps of moss the size of their heads.

It was the most tranquil waking Id experienced in months.

When I heard a knock on the door I assumed it would be my brother, come to check I was still alive, come to ask whether I liked the granny curtains, tell me he'd saved them just for me. But it wasn't.

"Mornin Nina," I turned around to Van's bright eyes as he nudged the door open with his foot, a cup of tea hovering in front of me before he was. "I thought yous might fancy a brew," he said offering me an easy smile, the sort of smile you'd give to a hungover friend and not your best mates little sister, the runaway fiancé.

"Oh," i breathed, smiling shyly, cheeks flushing a little when he looked me up and down. My brothers R. E. M tshirt and a pair of black panties half concealed by my duvet, half exposed like my bruised bare legs.

For a moment there was an oh so slightly awkward silence whilst we both tried to figure out what the other one was thinking. Whilst we tried to figure out what to say and then he ran his hand through his hair, the other remaining behind his back.

"This is a fresh style you've got going Nina," he teased nodding his head as if to approve, "I dig, i dig," he was trying his best at an American accent. If he was trying to make me laugh he almost succeeded.

"Thanks," i split a grin, a timid giggle as I accepted the tea from him and sat down, legs crossed on the bed, trying to shrink into my sheets and hide from him.

It was strange, feeling as though we had known eachother years, feeling as though we should have been so much closer than we really were.

"I made you toast too," he said then, "I wasnt sure what you liked so i made it jam cause you know, its a classic, everyone loves jam..." he trailed off realising he was rambling again, a self aware half smile on his lips when produced the plate from behind his back and my heart ached with the sweetness of him

"Thank you Van," i said quietly, warmed by his kindness, a little confused by the closeness with which he had always seemed to treat me. Ever since that first night at their after party when he'd found me crying in a room upstairs over some stupid cunt I'd decided to try and spend the rest of my life with.

I tugged at the duvet, pulled it a little tighter around my shoulders, taking a slice of toast, almost shy to bite down in front of Van and his gaze lingering on my thigh and the other little parts of me my covers failed to conceal.