"It's nice to look back on your life and see things as lessons, and not regrets."
-Rihanna
♔ Chapter Seventeen ♔
The winter had fully set in now. The snow was heavy, and it was only going to fall heavier, people were saying. It only snowed this far south every so often, but it was always an unpleasant surprise to me. I hated snow, the wet and cold trudges to and from everywhere, and the biting chill that stiffened the end of my fingers, the tip of my nose, and my ears, stinging from the cold, and inflamed a rosy red, most likely.
When I looked up, I saw an empty white sky, covered in clouds. It grew shaded by a patchwork of darker grey in the horizon, but was mostly an all-white sheet of sky. The streets were grey, gritted down and graveled, and the white of the snow had mixed with brown and black along the roads, and turned to a thick sludge.
I trudged through it anyway, holding the collar of my coat up close against the wind, and I carried on. Since I'd came back to Penryn, I knew I would've missed more than a few lectures, so I started trying to catch up on my studies before I fell too far behind. I found a desk in the back of the university library, and worked until the hours melted away, until time was a far off notion, and I'd lose track of my hours, then days, and it was easy. I became used to it, after doing it day after day - focusing on my studies, to just forget about anything else I had going on, and it felt good, slipping back into a routine.
I spent much of December in the library. I didn't speak to many people either, other than Evelyn, but I hardly listened to what she said anyway. I'd let conversations fly right over my head, and I didn't care. Most of the other students went home halfway through the month, to celebrate Christmas with their family around a fire, with a tree nearby, or some other bullshit image like that. I stayed at my uni flat, and spent most of the holidays alone.
The flat was empty, and deadly silent - it felt strange, seeing as I was used to trying to avoid my flatmates. I lived with five other students, two boys and three girls. I didn't make any attempts to get to know them, and I think they picked up on it very early on. I'd stride in and out without saying a single word to them, and I preferred it that way - not speaking to people, or outwardly ignoring them. I never cared enough to be polite, or to even be nice, and certainly not to people I barely know - and more importantly, wouldn't care to know either.
It was a lonely way to live, though, I knew that. Only having one friend, and even then, barely a friend. Sure, there were guys, and certain entanglements, but I always made sure to keep them at arm's length. It was lonely, yeah, but I brought it on myself, and I guess I preferred being alone a lot of the time. Even when I'm with people I like, and maybe even when I'm having fun, I'll still think - I'd rather be at home right now, by myself, in the darkness of my bedroom, away from the rest of the world. Fuck them, I'd think. They're all such fucking cunts anyway.
I knew I was a lot more negative in my own head. I was cynical by design, but I would have rather been a cynic than an unrealistic optimist, living in ignorant bliss. I resented them anyway. To me, hate was a much easier emotion to feel than love. Pushing people away was easier than letting them in.
Whenever I would get lonely lately, I would start to look inward, and I'd start thinking about the past again, about Tom, and then straight to Luke. I'd sit in my empty flat, the TV on in the background just so the silence wouldn't get to me, and I'd wish Luke was there with me, more than anyone else. I'd look to the empty space near me on the sofa, and I'd imagine him sitting there, I'd imagine feeling all of his skin at the tips of my fingers, and the warmth of his body close to mine, the feel of his hair running through my fingers, all of him. I couldn't stop myself from wanting him, the same way I wanted Tom.
Over Christmas, I assumed that I was the only person that stayed in the city. That was, until I felt a hand on my shoulder as I walked through snow one morning, and I turned around quickly, hesitantly, and found Luke standing, smiling toothily.
"I thought I spotted you," he said, his eyes on me, an intense and secretive blue.
"Hey," I said, giving him a brief smile back, but inside, I was trying to hide the thrill I felt just from looking at him again. God, I felt like such a fucking fool, but I didn't care. He was on my mind, and seeing him in person felt like a dream.
"You look good," he said.
"Huh?"
He laughed. "You're welcome."
"Oh, thanks," I stammered.
"So why aren't you home for the holidays?" he asked.
"My family is dead," I reminded him. "Home is just me, at the moment. Wherever the fuck I am, that's my home."
"Sorry, I forgot about your family. Foot in mouth. So the holidays must be pretty lonely for you." The way he said it sounded like he already knew it was true, like he could tell just by looking at me. I felt like he could see right through me, and it made a shiver sputter along my spine suddenly. Was I so transparent?
"It can be," I said slowly, trying to decide what to say. I felt like I had to closely watch what I said around him, in case I said something wrong or something stupid, or something dangerous. "But not if you're used to it."
"And are you used to it?" he asked, his black eyebrows raised above gorgeous blue eyes, shining out amongst the dull, wintered aesthetic of the world around us.
"Used to being lonely?" I asked. "No, honestly. It's shitty."
"You're a man of few words, aren't you?" he said, still smiling. "I get that. Keeping your emotions constantly in check. I get it."
Whenever he was around, I found it hard to take my eyes off him, unless I was met with a cold glare that I couldn't see through. I hated looking into his eyes sometimes, they made me think of deep blue oceans, and long summer skies - impossible things, really; Tom, alive, or drowning in my dreams, and my mother and brother, alive, or drowning too. Rotting, maybe. I forget.
I told myself in that moment, looking into Luke's blue eyes, that I'd learn from what I did. From throwing Tom to his death, to destroying Darby - I had to take my regret, and I had to learn from it. I couldn't do things the same, not with Luke. I didn't feel like the same person, anyway. I felt lesser, somehow, like I'd let my fears tear me down. I didn't feel as confident, or as violent as I used to be. I felt reclusive, like an outsider now.
"Where are you headed?" he asked.
"Just back to my flat."
"I was headed home too," he said, as if the conversation was at a sudden end, and we would have to part ways, and I'd go back to my empty flat without him.
I didn't like the thought, so I said quickly, and without much thought, "Do you wanna come over?"
He froze for a second, noticeably, and I wondered why. He said, with an air of nonchalance, "Cool, yeah, sure."
We headed back to my flat, and he made himself at home right away, lounging down on the sofa, right on the spot where I'd pictured him days before. He threw himself across, and looked over at me from the doorway. "Where's the TV remote?" he asked, seeing it on the coffee table and grabbing it.
I walked and stood in the crossover to the kitchen, by one of the island countertops.
"Do you have any depressingly sad or tragic movies on here?" he asked. "I love it when it's especially fucked up."
"Then you'll love Mysterious Skin," I said. "Do you want a hot chocolate?"
He searched for the movie and stuck it on quickly. "Only if you've got marshmallows."
We sat in front of the TV that night and watched Mysterious Skin, sipping hot chocolate, and I couldn't help but feel a certain warmth that I hadn't felt in years. Not even a romantic feeling, but just a warmth in the bottom of stomach. It made me feel for a night that I had a family again, or that I wasn't always as alone as I had thought.
I sat and watched Luke in front of me almost the whole time, but he was too into the movie that he barely even noticed. I wanted to memorise every feature of his face, in case I wouldn't see him again for a while. I felt infatuated all over again, just like it felt with Tom, in the beginning.
I could tell that he was getting sleepier. He slouched closer to me on the sofa, and slowly slid to rest the upper half of his body over my lap, his head tilted towards the TV. I found my hands playing with his hair, trying to watch him without him catching me out.
I watched as his eyelids grew heavier into the night, and I sat still with him over me as he fell to sleep. Just after midnight, I picked him up into my arms and carried him to my bed. He smiled up at me drowsily, but rolled over on my mattress, lying his body facing the wall, and stealing the entire blanket.
I sat myself down beside him, and stayed sat there for a time I couldn't count, just listening to the sound of his constant breathing, the only sound in an otherwise empty, lonely room. Then I lay down beside him, amongst the total quiet of the rest of the world, wanting to move closer, wanting to touch him somehow, to hold him, to have our legs entangled, or just to be able to see his face, his lips, his eyes.
I didn't sleep that night. I just lay there, and listened to his breathing, and that entire night, I don't think I'd ever felt more alive.