Part 1
I stare unblinkingly at my phone in hand until my eyes start to burn from the soreness of not blinking.
Brine, are you awake?
I read, and reread, and reread.
It's probably my cunning mind tricking me, but no one calls me by my last name except for him.
Without thought, I unlock my phone to open the message and my fingers type: Jake? However, I'm not so stupid as to send it. Thumbing the delete bottom, I watch as the letters of the name that I'm so fond of, only since it's his, disappear one by one from the reply box on the screen.
Instead, I type: Who is this? There is a hesitation in my finger before it finally presses send.
Now, the waiting game starts, which consists of an agonising minute or so of impatiently staring at my phone, checking whether I have signal, unlocking and locking it, all in anticipation of a response. After the minute passes, I sigh, locking the phone once more before dropping it in my lap and leaning back against the headboard of the bed.
"You need to chill out," I say to myself, my heavy eye lids weighing down, forcing the closure of my eyes.
Great, you've started speaking to yourself. This voice in your head is enough; you don't need to say things out loud.
After a few moments, the vibration in my lap startles me. My eyes flutter open, shooting down to look at the screen again.
It's Jake. So, you're awake? The message reads, and I cannot help but smile at it, mostly from the sweet shock that it's him.
I text back: No, I'm messaging you from my sleep.
I wait again, this time for not so long before getting a response.
Sweet dreams or nightmares?
His message makes my brows corrugate at the remembrance of this phrase, which he always used to ask when I couldn't sleep, when something in life, rather than in my sleep, was bothering me. It's like he knows I'm not alright, even though we are nowhere near as close as we once were. I can feel a tightening in my chest as my eyes roam the words.
It's been nightmares for the past two years, not just in my sleep.
Mostly nightmares with a few sweet dreams. I reply, and it's true. The sweetness has come from Aiden's company these past few weeks, and now Jake's text.
Same. His message comes in almost immediately after he reads mine.
I wonder what his sweet dreams and nightmares are.
Now, though, I don't know what to write, neither do I want this conversation to end. Luckily, another text comes through from him.
It's really late. My heart drops, I don't want him to say goodnight.
But do you want to meet up? It's dark out so I can pick you up if you want? His next message comes to allay my heart, while simultaneously causing it to somersault.
Like with all his other messages, I reread it to make sure I understand everything. I even consider pinching myself to see whether this is real or the workings of deception of my brain because I've reached the tipping point. But no, these messages are real and I'm still sane, I think. It's quarter past three in the morning, I'm as awake as an owl, and I've never been afraid of the night-time world. I've been through hell and back, the darkness of the night doesn't scare me like it used to.
No need, where should I meet you?
My parent's house, do you remember the way? I'll be stood outside.
Of course, I remember the way, how could I forget. Yes, I'll be there in half an hour.
Part Two
Unforgettable, everything about him.
As if I haven't left for what feels like an eternity as I wander these now unfamiliar streetlamp-lit roads leading to a destination, which I used to be all too familiar with.
Jake's house used to be my second home.
Whenever anything was stressing me out - which makes me laugh now thinking about all the petty little things that used to cause me stress - it was the first place I would seek refuge. The breakage of my family meant I was around there a lot before I left, so I saw Jake every day, slept at his place almost every night, spending almost all my time with him. He was my nightingale when I needed him the most.
But then the snowball came, which consisted of kissing River with Jake and Georgia finding out, then being taken advantage of. The snowball gathered so much snow that it eventually turned into something that would resemble a stampede, and it was crashing down on me.
When it did, I stayed at home, tied to my bed and too afraid to get out of the house. Until, of course, the morning my father told me he was going to Australia, it was my perfect escape. Never had I said yes to anything so quickly before in my life, but never had I cried that much either. I remember it, as if it was yesterday, how the tears never ceased to end as I packed my things. It was about the people I was going to leave behind more than anything else – especially Jake.
I don't blame him for being so mad at me for leaving without a goodbye, or anything for that matter. Still, I couldn't face him. I simply could not see his face before I left. If I did, I knew I wouldn't have been able to go.
Turning into his road, I notice a figure ahead, leaning against the sharply pointed poles of the tall steel gate which stand to shield his house. Instantly, I remember a conversation we had a few years ago, regarding this very gate.
"You want me to climb up this thing?" I spoke harshly into the phone, my facial expression asking 'what the fuck are you on?'. Obviously, he couldn't see it from across the receiver.
"It's not that high," Jake responded, making my eyes snap shut.
"Jake, it's like ten feet tall, I'm going to die." I deadpanned.
"No, you're more afraid of getting one of your nails chipped." I grinned at that, outstretching my fingers to look at my freshly painted black nails. I was into acrylics. "I would let you in, but if my mum finds out she'll put me on a skewer and serve me as sheesh kebab, so come on Brine, don't be a pussy."
"Um, excuse you, a pussy is more hard core than a dick, they have to squeeze a miniature human being out of a tiny hole," I argue, waiting for the repulsed reply.
I was known primarily for my lack of filter when it came to speaking.
"Brine, I'm gonna ignore what you just said because I want my dinner to stay down. Are you gonna climb it or what?"
I sighed through my nose, lips sealed in a tight line, fighting the urge to curve at his words. Anne Lloyd was strict but it was for Jake's own good, he needed someone to put him in his place every once in a while.
"You're responsible for my death," I told him with a serious tone. His laugh echoed from the other side. "I'll be ten minutes, meet me in the back garden." I finished before hanging up the phone.
Taking in the spiky poles that made up the gate that towered over me, I attempted to climb over the gate three times before I finally made it to the other side, with a few scratches to show for it.
Unlike those times, he's now stood in front of the closed gate, hands in pockets and eyes watching my beat-up car as I slow down parallel to the pavement that he stands on. As the car comes to a halt, he approaches my driver's window, bending slightly to be at my eye level. It's the eyes, they always have, and will always leave me weak. They behold such a unique colour that it would be an understatement to just say it's a mixture of just green and blue. More like they're the colour of a glistening ocean under the high afternoon sun and clear blue sky.
Look at me, such a poet.
With jittery hands, I press down a button that unwinds the window.
"This car sounds like it's being murdered," is the first thing that he says with his typical crooked smile.
I'm glad it's typical Jake.
"At least it's cheaper than a Range Rover," my lips curve back at him.
"Speaking of which, where is yours?"
"Lily is in Australia," I say, putting extra emphasis on the name which he refused (and seems to refuse still) to call it by. My response receives a chuckle from him.
"Oh yeah, Lily, I remember," he rolls his eyes, mockingly, and attempts to open the door handle, but it's locked. "You going to let me in then?" He says as I unlock it.
Surprised that his tall, muscular frame can fit into this two door car, it's oddly satisfying seeing him place himself like a puzzle piece into the passenger seat and secure the seat belt. He turns to face me, the car light making his eyes glitter.
"So, do you wanna drive or are we just gonna sit here like a pair of pansies?" He says, receiving a laugh from me.
"You know you're calling yourself a sissy, right?"
"I dunno, I just got it off Madagascar, you know, when King Julian was saying it,"
Again, another laugh escapes me, "you still watch that?"
"It's a great movie with a great message – I like to move it, move it, and so should you, so move the car."
Okay, I'm sorry, but I'm laughing again. I hope I don't sound like one of those girls whose giggles can afford her an eye roll from how flirtatious it sounds.
"You haven't told me where we're going," I say through my laughter.
"Just drive, we'll think of a place," he smiles back at me.
Part 3
At the beginning of the car ride, I was scared that there would build an awkward silence between us. However, as soon as we moved off, Jake turned on the radio – like he always used to – and although our chatter has been minimal, it is comfortable to just be here with him. This is very important to me, I haven't been comfortable with a guy other than my father and Aiden, and even with Aiden, I'm not completely there yet.
Thank you, Jake, for making me feel comfortable right now. Like you always used to.
"What's Australia like?" He asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. His fingertips are tapping away at his dark denim jeans to the beat of the pop song playing from the speakers.
"It's...hot. Lots of beaches, lots of palm trees." My tongue says as my mind wanders to the view of the ocean from literally our doorstep. "The people are nice, too."
"Is it racist there?" he comments, rather unexpectedly.
I turn to him for a moment with an inquisitively raised eyebrow, careful not to take my eyes off the road for too long. "Not that I've seen, who told you that?"
He shrugs his shoulders, eyes focussed on the empty road before us that is flooded by the yellowy light of street lamps. "A friend of mine, he didn't have a good experience out there once. He's Muslim."
"Yes, once," I scoff. "I think there's racism everywhere, not just Australia. Especially with what's going on in the world right now." I reply, giving attention to the current political crisis.
"I haven't seen it here, to be fair," I can feel his head twist to face mine, and if it weren't for the road, I would be meeting his gaze.
"Neither have I, but look at this town"—I lift one hand from the wheel to gesture to the outside world—"it's practically all white. I've hardly ever seen a person of a different ethnicity here."
The corners of his lips quirk downwards, as if in thought. "Not true, you're part Arab."
I try not to show my surprise at the fact that he's remembered such fine details about me. My mother is half Syrian, that's where the Arabic comes from. It doesn't show through though, apart from in my dark features and slightly olive skin.
"And you're part Scottish, but that's still white," this time, my comment receives a low laugh from him.
Although Jake's paternal side of the family are all blessed with ginger hair, which I find so beautiful, he didn't get that gene. Instead, he inherited the bronze locks of his mother, with a few blonde streaks that peek out in the summertime.
"Well remembered, my father will thank you for that. Any chance to speak about his heritage, he goes mental."
"He knows I'm back?" The question presents itself before I even have an opportunity to process it in my brain. I would face-palm myself if I didn't like having both hands on the wheel.
There's a pause before he responds with, "everyone knows you're back."
I'm not entirely sure why, but my brain instantly clicks to River – his face appears as a hologram in front of me on the windshield. Then, Georgia's is next to him. Do they know I'm back? Are they angry?
Letting my anxious thoughts possess me, I miss what Jake just said. "Sorry, what did you just say?"
"Let's pull over here," he points to his right. "The bridge, remember?"
So engrossed in just being with him, I haven't paid attention to the direction in which we're heading. We've arrived at the bridge that connects the two sides of Colston. We had to cross it on our way to and from school every day since we still couldn't drive, and sometimes we would hang out in a little hide out underneath the bridge. Some days it would be just Jake and me, other days it'll be the whole gang – River, Nick, Georgia, Ky, Jake and me, with the addition of Emily (River's twin) on a few occasions. We were quite the group of friends, very close-knit, very loyal. And I miss it.
Emily was a unique one; River didn't even know about her for most of his life since they were both adopted at birth to different families. I could tell that the distance apart meant nothing to them, they were the ideal brother-sister duo, and I sometimes grew jealous of her for the fact that she had such an amazing brother to look out for her.
I wonder how she is. There is an urge to ask Jake how everyone is, but I don't think the mention of River will do us any good. So, I bury the question for another time and pull up in a safe place on the left.
"Thank God, the dying cat noise was doing my head in," he says, to which I roll my eyes playfully. "You know, your family are minted, I'm sure they have plenty of money left over to buy you a decent car."
Smirking, I turn to him. "How do you know so much about my family's wealth huh?"
His smiling lips quickly straighten, and he gives me the don't-think-you're-fooling-anyone look. "I don't know, let me start with the fact that your dad is one of the most sought after surgeons in the country?"
"He's not in this country anymore, though, is he?"
This affords a sigh from him, but I can tell he's trying to hide a smile, which makes mine widen. "Come on Brine."
Exiting the car and walking to the end of the bridge where our hideout used to be, I can't help but feel stupid butterflies as he walks beside me. His legs at much longer than mine so with every stride he gets a little further ahead but is conscious to slow down to my pace, although he tries not to make it obvious. Studying his solid, brawny arms that remind me of a superheroes', initially, I ponder on either or not he's cold in his white t-shirt. Then, my thought trail takes me back to a time where I used to get hugged by them.
"They put up a new fence," he says, reminding me of the old trampled one. "Do you need a hand to climb up?"
"No, I'm okay." I lie. I've never been the most athletic, trust me I try, but I just can't.
Taking a step onto the low wall of the bridge, I grab onto the top of the fence that is a few inches taller than Jake and try my best to climb over to the other side of the patchy grass. But no way in hell is that going to work.
"Okay, I need your help."
He chuckles, and I love it but hate it at the same time. "Get down then, salty."
My head flicks in his direction at the mention of my old nickname. He gave it to me on my fifteenth birthday when he gifted me tinned tuna soaked in brine as a present, just for the jokes. Jake being Jake, he thought it was a brilliant joke (and it was). Hence, the nickname salty, since brine is a salty solution, ha-ha. It makes me smile just thinking of the memory.
"You're still on your old ways, are you?" I get down, never breaking away from his mesmerising gaze, a playful grin rearranging my mouth.
"Never changed," and with one quick motion, he grabs hold of the fence, lifting his legs in the air and effortlessly hurdles over it. "Now, climb up on the bridge wall." He instructs, and I do as I'm told. "Now try and lift your leg over the edge and I'll catch from this side."
His words make my heart flutter, and a heat instantly warms my ears and cheeks. Again, I do as I'm told. When my leg is over, and I'm basically sitting on the edge of the fence, I feel his hand reach up for my waist. The pressure of his touch over the layers of clothes I'm wearing sends a shiver through every inch of me.
This is important – it's not a bad shiver.
"Now lean towards me," his soothing voice directs me and I happily lean, yet for a moment I lose my balance, nearly tumbling to the side, but he's quick to tighten his grip on me.
"Don't worry; I got you." His gentle, gentle words sound, but the response my heart gives is far from gentle. After holding me up, so I'm able to get my other leg up and around the edge, I'm finally lowered me to the ground beside him.
I lied.
I could've climbed this fence; damn I climbed his house gate two years ago, and that is a much bigger feat than this one, and far more daunting. I just wanted to feel his embrace, his arms that used to wrap around me so often before.