The Time Before Home

Chapter Fifteen

The room thrummed with furious tension as we eyed one another as though we were dangerous animals, both ready to pounce but neither quite willing to take the step.

"Go on then," I said mockingly, "Explain how it's not what it looks like."

"Oh, it is," he said sincerely, voice tense, "It is exactly what it looks like. I'm sick to death of this shit and I am getting out-"

"You hypocrite!" I cried in disbelief, stabbing a finger towards him, "How can you do that when you've given me so much shit-"

"Because yours was different," he said disparagingly, "Because yours was watching us all recover, watching us all try to heal from what happened and turning your back and running."

"This is worse!" I protested, laughing incredulously, "You're leaving mid-bullshit. You're seeing us get terrorised and walking away while it's happening."

He had nothing to say to that, head dropping defeatedly as my words sank in. He kept trying sentences but nothing came out, finally balling up his fists and growling. "I don't have all the pretty words like you do," he snapped with resentful eyes, "I just... I just can't, alright. I just can't anymore."

"You think I can?" I challenged but it just made him angrier, shoulders tense with fury. I could feel the frustration coursing through me in waves, at the very idea of him leaving now. He simply couldn't. How could we protect him from hundreds of miles away? How could we fix this if he just went? How could he just... go?

"You don't have to do anything," he threw his hands up, "Escaping was your therapy. Therapy was my therapy. Two years of it. Two years of nightmares, two years of trying to convince my parents I'm not crazy, two years of hell."

"What do you think I was doing?" I spluttered, yanking at a chunk of my hair, "You think I just... I just forgot?"

"I know what you did," he spat in a low voice, "Because it's all over the fucking internet! I know you partied, I know you took pictures from your fucking high-rise, I know you started over. You abandoned us and got over it."

I recoiled at his words, utterly flabbergasted at the venom behind them. My fists shook with exasperation as it dawned on me he actually believed this. He believed that I left them all behind, only to go and end up sipping cocktails and taking pretty photos in front of the glimmering lights of New York City. He believed I was perfectly content to leave them sitting in the remnants of hell while I thrived away from them.

"How can you think that?" my voice dropped to a soft whisper, disarming him as the tone visibly shifted. He scowled, backing away.

"I'm not-"

"Doing this, yeah I know," I snapped sarcastically, "I get it. Seb, we were best friends. We... you know I wasn't having fun out there!"

"We weren't best friends," he scoffed, shaking his head. His lip trembled as he turned away from me, taking a deep breath, "You know what we were."

I swallowed, tears threatening to spring to my eyes. When he finally looked at me with the most vulnerable expression I had seen on him since he got here, I spoke, voice thick with tears. "I didn't have fun," I whispered, tears spilling over my cheeks, "I had nightmares... every night. I clawed my way through the day and let my therapist convince me that we'd made all this up, the six of us. I took stupid pictures, then I made enough money so I'd never have to come back here. I... cried. Every day. The days I wouldn't cry, I'd go out and drink. I cried, then I'd film a make-up video for strangers. I'd have three panic attacks then go out to a party in the city with people I couldn't stand..." my voice trailed off, "I hated it, Seb."

"Then why didn't you come home?" his voice cracked. I looked up, mouth twisting as I tried to hold myself together. Emotion coursed through my body but I clenched my fists, trying not to look a fool.

"Because I'm chicken shit, like you said," I whispered, but years worth of frustration was boiling to the surface. He was in front of me now, he was here. I could ask him. "Why..." I braved it, "Why wouldn't you take my calls? Why did you drop me?"

He stared at me for a long time, expression indecipherable. Every time I thought he was going to speak, he didn't. Right up until he did.

"Because it hurt too much," he muttered, throwing his arm in frustration, "Because you weren't supposed to go. We were supposed to..."

"Supposed to what?" I pleaded, practically begging, "I'm here now. Can't we just..."

"No!" he boomed, eyes filling with fire as he took a step towards me in rage, "No. You don't get to come back and make it better. I had to make my peace with you being gone, I had to bear it."

"Let it go!" I cried, stomping towards him, "Just... let it go! Look how angry you are! Christ, Seb, I've known you since we were kids! You were a moody little shit sometimes but you were never angry-"

"Yeah, well, I guess I am now," he threw his hands up, taking another step towards me. Somehow, in the vast abyss of this room, we had gravitated so intensely towards each other that I'd ended up mere inches from the wall, Seb no more than a foot away from me. I could smell his body spray, feel his breath on my forehead as he looked down upon me. I could see the extent to which his brown eyes were ablaze, boring into mine with an intensity I'd never experienced before.

"This is your fault too-" I started, but no sooner had I finished the sentence than I'd been backed up against the wall, Seb's lips pressed against mine as I gasped into his mouth, body lighting up instantaneously. He paused, as if waiting for permission - but I wasn't in control of myself as I grabbed his hair in my fists, furiously kissing him as he pushed me against the wall, hands holding onto my waist as he let out a deep moan.

"Fuck," he whispered, as both of our desperate hands touched bare skin and his lips never left mine, leaving me gasping as we held onto one another as though we'd be ripped apart any second. It finished too soon as he suddenly pulled away, staring at me in bewilderment as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. His sudden absence left me cold and as my mouth hung open and my tousled hair fell in waves around my now plump lips, I struggled to breathe.

"I'm... I'm so sorry," he brought a hand to his mouth, holding it over his lips, "I shouldn't have..."

"No," I said breathlessly, tucking my hair behind my ears in a daze and straightening out my shirt. There was a trail of fire across my skin where his hands had been, hot and endless. "I... it wasn't you, I..." I trailed off, completely unable to find words. We stared at each other for too long as Seb ruffled his own hair, muttering quiet expletives. He finally turned to me.

"You're right," he finally said, shaking his head the tiniest bit, "I've been... awful. I say things to you and then I leave and I just... I feel sick. You were my best friend, Al'," his voice grew quiet, looking as though his face might crumple, "But then... then I see you and I'm just so damn mad. I go back to that place of being hurt and furious, and..."

I tried to recover, heart pounding as I took a tiny step towards him. He looked skittish as I did, panicked. "I don't want you to feel like that," I mumbled, "I get it. I wasn't myself when I left, but..." my breath caught in my throat because his hands were shaking and his eyes kept darting back to my lips, lingering there for a little too long. I abandoned my thought process and sighed, leaning against the wall. "I'm sorry I ruined it all," I whispered, eyes closed, "If I could have taken you with me... I would have. I wish I'd forced you."

Finally, he looked at me - really looked at me, and a small, unsure smile tugged at his lips. "Can you seriously imagine me in New York?" he asked, making a 'blah' face. I broke into my own smile as I saw a hint of the Seb I knew back, goofy and playful. We settled back into silence but for the first time since I arrived, it wasn't awkward. The air sizzled with something and my fingers still shook from the kiss we were desperately trying to pretend hadn't happened but it was progress and so I felt safe reaching for his hand as we clumsily held one another, unsure of what we were supposed to do.

"I'm so sorry, Al'," he said quietly, all of the anger drained from his body. He looked like Seb, but he looked exhausted. As though at nineteen years old, life had already weathered him beyond repair.

"Me too," I whispered, and I was sure my eyes mirrored the brokenness of his, desperately searching for the antidote to a poison which had filled my body many years ago.

***

"Jesus Christ on a bike," my mouth dropped open, "What is he doing here?"

Walking up my drive in a hat and wielding endless brown bags which dropped haphazardly onto the grass outside, was Theron the priest. I could already hear him muttering irritatedly to himself and as I gaped at my friends, I shot a 'what the hell?; expression to everyone around me.