artgirl 16: blue
"Heard about all the love you lost. It was over before it began; heard about all the miles you've gone...Heard about all the things you've been through. It sounds like you need a friend," ZAYN (Rearview by my boy.)
Nicolas Bear Forrest
THERE WAS A MOMENT WHEN I KNEW ZOEY'S SOUL COULD NEVER DIE. On the night of the campfire, when she had drunkenly kissed me. We'd barely spoken a few sentences to each other, but they had been full of sarcasm and awkwardness. Her eyes never stopped being kind, even when I wasn't.
She was sad that night, later I would discover that it was because of her friend's betrayal, by going out with Oliver, her old crush. She was slurring her words and a mess, but she still came to sit on a small pillow next to me, watching the fire crackle a few feet away.
"Hi," she said.
I had stared at her, because she was light on the heart and seeing her intoxicated made every sentence breezy and clumsy all at once. "Hey."
"So," she smiled, "how do you like it here so far?"
"It isn't bad, I guess. A bit too small for my taste, though. Restricting."
Her laugh resounded in my ears, "small? Oh, you have no idea how pretty this town is."
"The people in it sure are."
"Me?" she put her hand on her chest, taken aback. Then: "of course, me. I'm pretty, but in a very low-key way, you know. At first glance, I'm nothing special. But when you get to know me, that's when you love me. Unless you're a dick named Oliver, then you're stupid enough not to love me."
Even when she was drunk, she blabbered.
"So, what I'm getting is that no one can't not love you?"
She shook her head and her smile faltered. "I've got a lot of love inside of me, and I give it out to people. Isn't it the kind thing to do for them to give it back?"
I stayed silent at that. The silence irked her, so she asked: "Don't you think it's beautiful? The fire, I mean. All the colors."
I nodded, and that was when I saw them. The colors, all around her. They were dancing, touching every part of her. She glowed with the colors of the world, and her soul seemed to never let that go. That was the first time I'd seen her glow, not the last. She'd done the same when she saw Walters, when she was biking with a little bit of wind in her hair, when she smiled and when she cried.
Her entire existence glowed.
Pulled back to reality, I looked at her now. Hair short, hand hurt and tears that never ended. She didn't glow now, not as much. Her lights were slowly fading away. I looked away. Her pain was contagious and I was afraid if I had gotten any more, I would burst into the same flames from that campfire.
She got up to make a speech, with a paper and shaky hands. She tucked her hair behind her ears, closed her eyes and started to read. "Harold Walters was—oh, God," the tears fell and fell, and her voice broke along with them. "H-he was—"
Diana and Skye ran to their friend's side, asking if she wanted one of them to read her speech instead. She shook her head and pushed them away gently. "Sorry. Harold Walters was the best man I knew. He was a loved husband, father and most importantly, friend. His heart opened to anyone and he took people under his wing without thinking twice," she stopped her gaze adrift.
"He believed in people and trusted them to do what was right. He changed anyone he met by a few words and our lives were better with him. Our lives are amazing just by having the honor of knowing him, because if I—well, he never gave me the chance to wish for a father. I already had him, and he was more than a dad to me. He loved to laugh and lived to love, and I'm sure he wouldn't want us to cry. So, in Harry Walters' honor; here is his favorite song of all time: Don't Stop Me Now, by Queen."
Upbeat music started playing, and Bea was both sobbing and laughing. Everyone present had small smiles on their faces, remembering him. The funeral ended soon ended, and Bea left for the burial. People said their goodbyes, as his casket was closed. I stepped up near the wooden casket and thought: "Thank you."
For teaching me how to be young at an older age. For telling me to stop being afraid of life and to be kind to those I loved. For allowing me to take your place delivering mail, for dealing with my moody teenage self. For showing me how to never let your soul die. For making me realize that I loved her. For being a good man with a good heart.
Thank you, Harry Walters. Thank you.
-
Somehow, during the next hours, I was driving with Zoey to Downtown Ottawa.
She refused to leave the church steps after the funeral was over. Her mom was already gone, leaving for her honeymoon. Diana, Skye, James, Joel and the others went back to their respective homes in Silvercrest, eager to take a break from the clouds that reigned in the streets.
"Hunter," I'd been sitting next to her in silence for half an hour. She had only stopped crying five minutes ago. Every time she talked, she cried. So, we settled on not speaking at all.
A small nod was my answer. I nudged her arm lightly, "I'll take you home if you want. Or to the diner. C'mon, love. Please. He wouldn't want to see you like this."
"He wouldn't?" Her voice was almost gone. Not giving me a chance to answer, she sighed. "He wouldn't." She took out an elastic band from her pocket and put half of her hair in a little ponytail.
She got up and looked down at me, with hollow eyes and pursed lips. "I need to do something."
"I'm guessing you know what to do."
"I think so," she was getting stronger, frighteningly so. "When's your flight?"
"11 p.m. We have four hours before I have to go. When's yours?"
Zoey waved me away. "Doesn't matter. I need to get to a tattoo parlor shop."
"I—" before protesting her request, I put myself in her shoes. She wasn't being stupid, getting her first tattoo after a sentimental couple of days. "All right, then."
She nodded, "thanks." We began walking to my car and as we buckled our seatbelts on, she coughed. It was a dry cough, the kind you got when you'd barely drank anything all day.
"When was the last time you ate anything?"
She scrunched up her face, "uh—"
"If you've had to think about it, it's been too long. We'll get you some food first, then get tattoos, yeah?"
"Tattoos?" Her head tilted a little.
I started the engine, the ideas and drawings already forming in my brain. "Tattoos."
The slightest smile appeared on her lips, and then disappeared. She rested on the head rest and closed her eyes. She woke up twenty minutes later, groggy and confused. I'd woken her up to tell her that I had late breakfast for her, which she shook her head at.
"M'not hungry," she rubbed her bare face and took a deep breath. "I need a paper and a pencil—ah, fuck. Fuck." She looked down to her hand, tried to stay calm. "I'll just wait until we get there. It's okay."
There was something intriguing about hearing her swear, always had been. It was almost a funny idea to me: hearing such words come out from such a little body. Then again—she was never small. She took up as much space as she could, stretched her arms all around her to grasp as much of the world as possible.
I parked on the outskirts of the busy city, knowing that to find a parking space was practically impossible. Zoey tightened her coat around herself, walked in front of me. She guided the way to the small tattoo parlor shop, her strides long for such short legs.
Muerte appeared in sight. Zoey didn't stop once, as she went into the shop and asked to speak to the most talented artist in there. The bulky men didn't think twice before guiding her to a woman named Gold.
Once she appeared in sight, I understood the origin of the name. Gold was covered in golden tattoos. Her skin glowed with them; the golden hues of each design were reminders that the sun was absorbed in her. The cold weather didn't even affect her, she radiated with literal warmth. I wasn't sure if that was how magical people looked like, but it seemed like anything she would touch would turn into gold.
"Hi," she grinned, "I'm Gold. What can I do for ya?"
Zoey blinked. "I would like a tattoo. I know what the design should look like but as you can see, my hand is very much retired at the moment. You're going to have to be my hands. Not literally, of course. I just want to tell you my idea and get it right on paper. If you can do that, I'll tip you more than I should, most probably."
"Cool," Gold didn't seem fazed by Zoey's blabbering, just amused. She winked."I gotcha, Red. What about you?"
"I've got something in mind," I replied, a little struck by her presence.
And I did. I already had my mom's initials and date of birth in roman numerals on my side. A year ago, I'd also gotten the pyramids of Giza (Khufu, Khafre and Menkaure) right above my left arm's elbow crease. I had been in a slump, losing my passion for architecture. Just like drawing or writing, I needed a fire to drive me through the studying. I needed to freestyle. Late at night, after much research, my eyes fell on the pyramids. I spent hours and hours taking it all in: reading about every architectural detail. I decided that one day; I would create something as beautiful and marking as the pyramids.
"Forrest?"
I snapped back to reality, absent. Zoey was sitting in a chair, discussing her tattoo details with Gold. She was holding up a sketch, both waiting for me to talk.
"It's perfect," I nodded towards Zoey. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah," she stared at the design, then looked up at me with sad eyes and an even sadder smile, "I need this. If I can't create any art anytime soon, it would be nice to have some of it on me. Don't look at me like that. I know what I'm doing. Gold, I'm ready."
Gold glanced at her, "Red, this is going to look good on you." She stood up and grabbed the equipment necessary. Her brown braids swayed with her as she turned around and said, "but then again, what wouldn't?"
Once Gold was out of earshot, Zoey turned to me and whispered: "Is she flirting or am I crazy?"
"You're not," I couldn't help but smile, "she's just a little enchanted by you."
"Me? What about her? Have you seen her? She glows. Literally," she breathed in awe.
So did you, I think. She still did glow, just not in the same way anymore. She was ineffable, I realize. No matter what could happen to her, her effect on the world would never end. She didn't have an expiration date. She didn't stop glowing; she just glowed silently, instead of sharing it with the world.
She looked at me again, "thanks for being here."
"Oh, come on," I leaned in a little closer to her, "Hunter, you know there's no place I'd rather be."
Zoey held my gaze for just a moment and sighed. She was soon distracted by Gold's arrival. The latter was humming a song. "Red, where do you want this exactly?"
-
An hour later, we walked out of the shop. A simple outline of a letter with wings was on Zoey's right hip. There were fifteen dots all around the main tattoo, symbolizing the amount of years she'd known him.
My hand was still tingling from the pain. She made a bet with me that whoever flinched during the process of their tattoo would buy the other dinner. She didn't flinch—but she did squeeze the life out of my hand, from panic. Even when the pain became bearable, she kept my hand in hers. Eyes closed.
Once it was my turn, I pretended not to be in much pain. I got a long, black lightening bolt on my right arm. I needed to remember that a lightening strike didn't happen much: with people and events, so when one did happen, I wouldn't let go. Lightning was unforgiving and magnificent: I had to be as strong as it to hold on.
"See? I'm fine," I told Zoey, who was sitting beside me, eyeing me carefully.
She caught the way I clenched onto the side of the chair. She put an open hand beside mine, raising her eyebrows. I took her hand. The tattoo didn't hurt all that much after that.
Once we stepped out of the store, she brought me to a little ice cream shop. We were in the beginning of January, but she didn't hesitate to walk into the empty store and order her favorite mix: Oreo and hazelnut.
I sat in front of her, by the window. She watched the people go by, observing their every behavior. "You're staring," she said.
"Sorry," after a moment, "how are you feeling?"
"Like I want to be one of these people," she took another bite of her ice cream and grimaced at the sudden cold. Then, she pointed to a group of friends in front of the tattoo shop. They were all laughing, probably at their embarrassed friend in the middle. There was an air of familiarity when I looked at them. "Look at them, Nico. They're so happy. And young. And carefree. They don't have a worry in the world, but it feels like I've got every possible one."
"Don't say that. You're going to be—"
Her eyes snapped back to me, "what? Happy? Fine? Okay? I feel like my heart has been ripped out of my chest. My hand isn't working. My money-making hand, the hand that creates art. If art is my entire world, then my world is destroyed. I'm not going to be okay," her tone was piercing and eyes tearing up, "at least for God-knows-how-long. So, please, don't bullshit me. I feel like shit, right now. Can't you please just listen to me in peace?"
"Hunter," I threw away the last bit of my cone. "I'm not your teddy bear. You won't get through this by being negative. I will share your sadness with you, but I won't embrace it. I'm here for you, and that doesn't mean that I'll just listen to you—watch you dig a hole for yourself. It means that I will hold your hand through the bad times and give you some kind of hope that you'll be okay, which, by the way, you will be."
She didn't answer, just nodded. I put my hand beside her right one. "This hand is not dead. You are the master, Hunter. You are the superhero in all of this. Don't make a home out of the dust around you. Take it in, realize how you don't belong for anything less than greatness, and get up."
"Huh," she chuckled and smiled. "You're a very deep person. Who are you quoting?"
I sighed, "no one. When it comes to you, I get deep. You're—" My person.
She stared at me with simple curiosity and a fear that I'd come to know too well. I wasn't stupid enough to lay out my feelings on the same table where her broken heart was residing.
"My friend," I finished, and then watched her relief. "You're my friend, Hunter. I've got your back."
"I'm glad you do," she mumbled.
I put a hand to my ear and got closer to her, "what was that?"
A series of grumblings were heard.
"Wait, what? I can't hear you, Hunter. You're glad what?"
She shook her head and smiled. "I'm glad you're around, all right? Happy?"
"Meh. Next time, if you added a "Nico, I'm over the moon that your charming, handsome self is around to shower me with your valuable time," I would've been much happier."
Zoey's nose went high in the air and she huffed. "Don't get cocky."
"Never am," I got up and cleared our tray in the trash. "There's a difference between being cocky and honest."
"Okay then," she waited for me at the door. "Am I being honest or cocky by saying that you're lucky to be spending time with my beautiful self?"
"Honest, of course. Your beautiful self is worth spending time with."
She made a grimace, "Nicolas!"
"Zoey!"
"Why do you say such cheesy things?"
"Because it makes you smile, Hunter. What do you want to do before we head home? I've got another hour to spare."
Her shoulders dropped, and the shadow of a smile on her face disappeared. "Correction: you're heading home." She began walking away quickly, her legs bouncing off the ground.
"Hold on," I caught up to her with ease, "Hunter. What's that supposed to mean?"
"That means exactly what I said. I'm not going back. My home isn't London. I have nothing there. I'll sell the store and apologize to Jessie."
"You're serious? You're actually making such a rash decision without thinking twice about it? Tell me you're not serious, Hunter."
Any softness in the air was gone. "I am, Forrest. I don't want to go back to a place where everything will make me feel like a failure. I paint for a living; how do you expect me to tell Jessie about this?"
"Jessie is a bloody amazing friend. She'll help you. Your shop can run on everything you have in stock. I've seen the storage room, I've seen the paintings. Your store doesn't depend on you, there's other vintage and antique stuff—"
Her eyes were glassy again. "Exactly! It doesn't depend on me!"
"I wasn't done. It might not depend on you completely, but it needs you to live. Don't you dare create something and walk away from it, Hunter. You're better than that. You've spent money on your store; you've put all of your passion into it. Don't you dare leave it."
"I'm not leaving it," her fire had become ember and her voice was ashy, "I just feel like I was better off here. Being hidden from the world. Living in the little town. I just—" She scrunched up her face and to stop the tears but failed. "Everything hurts. I need to be okay again. I need to be here."
I could have wished for Zoey to be happy on a million stars, but the only way she would escape from the pain was to, literally, escape from it. I, of all people, knew that best. To disconnect yourself from pain, you had to connect with everything it couldn't touch. Places, people, things that would detach you from the reality and create a life where anything but pain was possible.
"You're in control of your life," I said to the beautiful girl walking next to me. Zoey didn't look at me. "The sooner you get away from the pain, the sooner you heal. Time isn't the only thing that heals. So, Hunter, if you want to stay, stay. Just remember that you're lucky enough to have another life on another continent. Staying here will only make you feel worse. Every part of this town? It has Walters all over it. Be selfish."
She waited for a few seconds, said: "I'm getting some hot chocolate. Do you want some?"
-
We got back earlier than I'd thought. Zoey hadn't said anything but "thank you" when I dropped her off at her house and "pass by here if you have the time before you leave, Julia wants to say goodbye".
I was strangely drained of energy. She was so...indescribable. Like she was a series ellipsis on every person's lips, because not a word could sum her up. She just was. I could try as much as I wanted to paint an image of her to someone, but nothing could measure up to her. Was this what loving someone felt like? Was love truly putting the power of your heart in someone else's hands, so that they could both fuel and drain you? It was never in a negative way. I didn't regret a single second with her, never did.
While someone like Camilla made me happy, Zoey was the one who made me feel everything. She was like spinning a wheel of chance and landing on nothing bad. It was too late now to back down; I didn't want to walk away from her. Because being away from her only made the time I'd spent with her seem so much more important.
My suitcases were in the back of my dad's car now. I still needed to pass by Zoey's, but my dad driving at night always got him tired. I went to the diner for two cups of coffee and a cupcake for Julia, the memories of being here on my birthday for years prior making me smile.
"Thought you'd be gone by now," said a girl. "Since it's your thing, leaving without notice."
I turned to Diana, who wore a bitter smile on her face. If I was emotionally tired, she was physically tired. Her hair was in a bun on her head, she was in sweatpants and a sweater that was so big it could only be Joel's.
"Nice to see you too," I replied, waiting for my order to be done.
She shook her head disapprovingly, "how is she?"
"Sad. Tired. Mad. Tattooed."
"Come again?" Her eyes were wide at the last word.
"Tattooed," I repeated. "Tribute to Walters. Letter on her hip."
A low whistle. "She must really be shaken up. She's scared shitless of needles. And she didn't tell me."
"I know," I thought of how tightly she held my hand. "Did you know she's thinking of not going back?"
She hummed. "Yup. She's going back."
"How do you know? Did you talk to her?"
"Yeah, I just came back from her place. She didn't say she was going back, but she hugged me for five minutes. And she's not the kind of person to walk away from life. Unlike you," she smiled at the last part, as if sharing an inside joke with herself.
It was my turn to shake my head at her. "Are you ever going to let that go?"
"Never. On my grave, it'll be loving wife; friend and human, then on the bottom will be gone with a goodbye, unlike Nicolas Bear."
"No place for my last name?"
"No," she munched on the bagel in her hands, "there's place. I just want the world to know you as Nicolas Bear."
I took the coffee and box of cupcake in one hand, freed my other arm for a one-sided hug to a very unwilling, grouchy Diana. "Always good to see you. Take care of Joel and of yourself."
She hugged me back, although reluctantly. "Take care of her. Of yourself too, but mainly her. I love her a lot."
"Me too."
-
I knocked twice before Julia opened the door. Her face lit up when she saw the cupcake and hugged me. I complimented the braids in her hair, as she touched them and said: "Skye did them."
My heart was beating loudly, for some reason. I didn't understand why, I was okay all day. But now, I felt as if I would puke. Zoey's voice yelled out to Julia, and she asked me to wait for her. So, I did. I stood there for what seemed like forever, debating if she really did want me there. Standing on her doorstep. Having "maybe" and "almost" inched on my skin, like tattoos that would never end. I was an almost. A maybe. And I think that was what made it worse; I didn't know what could have been.
She stepped into view, with a suitcase and her passport in one hand. Teary-eyed from the goodbyes, she didn't look at me in the eyes at first. Instead, she just zipped her winter jacket up, gently putting her hurt hand through the sleeve.
Then, "do you have space for me in the car?"
"Of course," I took her suitcase.
She grabbed my coat and tugged me towards her. I thought she was going to take back the suitcase, but she kissed my cheek and put her arms around my neck, squeezing me for a moment. "Thank you for everything."
"Of course," I mumbled. "I've got you."
-
are you seeing the slow dynamic developing? because i am. and yes, i know exactly what will happen. you'll just have to wait and find out. out of curiosity though, what do you think will become the nature of zoey+nico's relationship in the next chapters?
i am LIIIIVIN for that diana+nico scene. my babies.
hope you liked this chapter as much as I loved writing it!! it feels a little dry, to be honest, but STILL. I couldn't have a full chapter written and NOT post it. It would be cruel.
also, I LOVE Y'ALL. lots. lots. lots.
much love, yas