- Voice so low, sneaking around, so it goes -
Taehyung's POV
Living with Sage is a peculiar experience. The more we hang out, the more I realize she's different from the vision I had of her. Maybe my perception was tainted by memories of the girl as a child or maybe the image she projects differs from her true nature, but knowing her now, really knowing her, is not as I had imagined.
She's free-spirited, outgoing, open-minded, and always takes a lively, upbeat approach to life, that much I already knew. However, her personality runs deeper than just being fun and bubbly. She pursuits meaningful emotional connections with the people around her, and is quite introspective, intensely questioning her life at a level I didn't expect.
Just yesterday, we were walking outside together, and were casually chatting about our college plans (or lack thereof) when she suddenly said something that stuck with me. The path was icy, and we were walking close, the back of our knuckles brushing together as we shuffled back to her house, trees sending tall shadows over her crimson hair. Her thin orange eyebrows were frowned over her steel eyes as she focused on trying not to fall.
"I consider myself such a lucky teenager and always thought my life to be easy compared to some people I know. Yes, things weren't always pink and perfect, and I do have plenty of skeletons in my basement, but still, the problems I had never came close to the ones you or your friends struggled with."
It's true that I always considered her life a picture-perfect version of all of ours. No deadbeat dad in a mental institution like Yoongi, no dead brother and unemotional parents like Jungkook, no crazy dangerous relatives like Jimin, and no problematic family situation like me.
"My parents divorced, which sucked," she continued, "But I always had enough food and clothes to dress myself, I always liked my body and kept a relatively positive mindset throughout years which are considered 'difficult' for most people. Our bodies are changing, we get more mature and are told to be articulate and polite, to think critically and have opinions on everything, yet when we raise our voices and try to change things, we're told to shut up, that we're too young or inexperienced to understand."
She's right of course, the teenage limbo isn't a painless path to cross and so far, I thought she had done pretty well at preserving herself from all of it.
"But the more I think about it now, the more I feel things aren't working out as great as they should, especially recently. Having a toxic relationship and an ex-boyfriend who shot someone is kind of a traumatic event. Not telling my two best friends the exact reason why I broke up with him didn't help either. To top it all, I still blame myself for the entire thing."
I immediately stopped her there, ready to contradict her, but she brushed it off with a twist of her hand and a shrug.
"It goes deeper than that. Those current problems are digging-up old wounds which are slowly making me realize I'm not such a good person. I still feel bad for not being able to help you when you got accused of murder, simply removing myself from the narrative instead of stepping forward and trying to help... Yes, my efforts would have probably been futile, but it would have been better than to hide out like a coward. In the end, you all got punished for something you didn't deserve, and maybe I should have been punished with you."
I told her that it wouldn't have changed anything, that she was just a child, but again, she shrugged and just continued talking.
"Another thing weighing on my conscience these days is hidden under the shed behind my house, an old box full of treasures I shouldn't have. The more I think about it, the more I convince myself I should do something with it, yet every time I push the task away, almost too ashamed to look back on it."
I immediately know what she's talking about. This is perhaps the only thing she ever did that I know of and think is truly immoral. It started as a game when she was younger; stealing things from the corpses in her basement and hiding them in a box. Rings, watches, earrings, and necklaces would end up in her small fists before her dad would notice anything, then she would keep all of it hidden under her shed. By now, she probably has enough precious metal in there to melt it into a gold bar.
"All of it is now detrimental to my focus at school, which explains the rejection from Dartmouth," she continued, "To be honest, I'm disappointed, but not exactly surprised. I couldn't write at all in my essay how much I dreamed about going there and changing the world... because I don't know at all what my mark on this Earth will be. I have no idea what I want to do, no real passion for anything, which I know is showing in my applications. At the end of the day, all I know is embalming corpses, and I'm starting to think I should just become a mortician like my dad, that maybe my place is amongst those who are dead."
This left me quite perplexed. I know she's better than this small town and her dad's business but her lack of confidence in her own capabilities hit me in the face so obviously it made me speechless. And then, after having this conversation which gave me a glimpse of how intricate and discerning her mind is, she started throwing snowballs at my back and fell on her ass, nearly breaking her arm on a particularly slippery patch of ice.
Living with Sage is wonderful yet excruciating. Having her around all the time is addicting. She laughs at all my jokes and marvels at the most random little things I do. She's amazed by my knowledge about books and was beyond surprised when I showed her my report card, the tiny A and Bs lining up on the paper delighting her more than either of my parents ever cared.
"You got an A+ in AP calc!? How is that even possible?"
"Well... Contrary to what you seem to think, I'm not stupid, Sage."
"I just never see you study, I didn't know you cared about school."
"I don't."
That was a lie. I have to care or with all the shit me and my friends pull, we would all have been thrown out of the Academy a long time ago. Living with Jungkook also contributed greatly to my academic success. The guy was so boring; when he wasn't working-out his deltoids, his nose was always buried in his biology textbooks and I unconsciously copied my study regime on his as we spent so much time together.
Sage wasn't satisfied with her grades even though she was above average in every class except for Maths and French. She asked me if I could tutor her in both classes and I immediately rejected the offer.
"I would rather die. Being a tutor is lame. Also you don't need it, your grades are fine."
"My grades are fine, but they could be perfect."
"Perfection is so boring."
We decorated the Christmas tree together and the entire house smelled of fir sap and gingerbread for at least a week.
Her dad was obviously avoiding me, spending most of his time working in the basement or making mysterious phone calls to someone Sage thought could be his new secret girlfriend. When we did run into each other, Mr. Stewart stayed polite, nodding to me, thanking me for the tasks I did that day, then he would leave.
I wasn't always at Sage's house. I also had to go back to mine.
I brought a small Christmas tree that I cut down myself and that Kristen decorated with paper cranes and garlands. We hid it in a closet so that our parents wouldn't see. I bought gifts for my sisters with Hazel's money; mostly clothes and useful school items plus a winter coat for Kristen. They absolutely loved it.
Jenna cried when I left on Christmas night, but I knew that staying would have made things worse for everyone. My dad had been sniffing around our bedroom for a few hours, talking to himself and banging his sick frame against the walls. He was waiting for an excuse to come in and grab me by the throat to drown me in the toilet, or whip me with his belt, who knows, but I didn't feel like picking a fight on Christmas day.
I left fast, running into the corridor. He did catch up with me and pushed me hard enough to make me fall, but I was quick to stand back up and managed to avoid the kick he was directing to my face, running away and forgetting my coat.
"Merry Christmas to you too, asshole," I whispered under my breath as I ran into the street.
Sage was happy to see me come back... unlike her dad who sent me a cold look and immediately went down to the basement. I just smiled at him, drawing a certain satisfaction from knowing I'm breaking all of his stupid rules, so he could just go back to his precious basement and die there for all I cared.
Because even though I make a certain effort at helping out with the dishes and shoveling the snow in the parking lot, I smoke in the house and more importantly, I sleep in Sage's bed every night.
If he knew he would probably shoot me.
This idea makes me smile.
I also stole a few Christmas ornaments for good measure, ones hidden at the bottom of the Christmas tree that I easily swiped to put in my pocket. One little wooden nutcracker and two gold angels. Jenna loved them. I also got a twenty-dollar bill from Mr. Stewart's coat pocket.
Honestly, I'm quite surprised I haven't been caught yet. It's almost like I'm trying to get thrown out.
Maybe I'm trying to make the torture stop.
Because the second night I spent in Sage's house was the day before Christmas Eve. I came back late from buying gifts for my sisters and was so tired I barely hauled myself up the stairs and into old grey sweatpants. At that point, the closed door of her Mr. Stewart's bedroom indicated he was already sleeping. However, I was walking back from the bathroom after brushing my teeth when I noticed Sage was still up. Sitting at her desk with her legs crossed, she was wearing a white nightgown straight out of a Downton Abbey episode and had her crimson hair piled on top of her head and holding together with a paintbrush. The pale freckles on her shoulders drew me in, and I knocked on her door frame before inviting myself inside and stepping into the yellow aura of her bedroom.
"You're back," she said with a smile.
"Of course."
I promised you I would come back.
I sat on her bed, spreading my legs to stretch them out. It dawned to me that I should have put on a t-shirt. The nakedness of my chest did seem to put her off as she folded onto her shoulders even more, looking straight at the paper in front of her and the tiny specs of azure she was brushing over with a pencil.
I didn't mean to stay, but my eyes were heavy, and her sheets smelled like her. I laid down for a minute on top of her covers, looking at her work, but it didn't take long before she got bored of her drawing and turned off her light, plunging the room in complete darkness.
Next thing I knew, she was sliding in the sheets next to me.
"Goodnight."
And we were back to the same position as the day before, lying next to each other in the dark. This time, she didn't try to touch me and simply stayed there, her body relaxing in the pillows as I stared into the obscurity, waiting for my sight to adjust.
She didn't tell me to leave, didn't seem to mind my presence, so I decided to stay.
My eyes got quickly used to the darkness and I admired the way her lips parted and her face relaxed, chest slowly rising with each breath bringing her closer to a deep slumber.
It was torture. I wanted to touch her and bring her close, slide my arm around her waist, kiss down her neck and whisper things in her ears. I wanted to tell her to be quiet and take her hand, directing it down to my chest, letting her feel my body and the burning skin of my stomach. I felt like holding her so tightly, she would feel the hard bulge of my crotch, slide my hands under her gown and caress the soft curves underneath as she whispered my name over and over again, quietly asking for more.
But those dreams were just broken fantasies, creations of my wicked mind, and I made sure not to act on them, crossing my arms on my chest and biting the inside of my cheek, staying as immobile as a statue.
She didn't want any of these things.
Still, being next to her, watching her pupils move under her eyelids as she dreamed while feeling the heat of her body through the sheets was way too satisfying for even thinking of leaving. One long pallid leg was wrapped around the sheets, foot pointed, knee bent, and I had to muster all the willpower I ever had not to reach for it and let my hand engulf her thigh.
All of it was delicious; from the misery of not getting to touch her to the breaking tension in my stomach when her hand accidentally brushed my cheek as she slept. Sweet, sweet agony of my heart beating in my ears and the blood rushing through my limbs while she, completely oblivious to my internal torments, slept soundly next to me.
I left around three in the morning, making sure not to wake her up.
And then I came back the next night, and the next after that.
She would fall asleep every time in the same position, turned to my side with her lips parted and her fists tightly closed. One time she grabbed the cross from my neck in her slumber, the chain so tightly enclosed in her fingers that I had to pry her hand open to be able to leave, the cross imprinted against her palm as I stole it back.
She never tried to get closer and I didn't either. We would simply fall asleep side to side: her, under the sheets and me on top of the covers just like two children from a fairy tale.
And just like that, Christmas and New Year went by and it was almost time to leave Sage's house and go back to school.