His results finally came.
They weren't great. While he certainly wasn't rock-bottom failing, he definitely did not achieve the pinnacle of what he used to be able to perform. Amongst the many average marks of Bs and Cs and As, there was only three A stars. Disappointment welled in his stomach and he crumpled his report, stuffing into his drawer of miscellaneous things and hoped his mother never asked what he got. With Greg's frequent absences and lack of sobriety, his mother didn't need any more heartbreak.
He wondered if he should retake any of his exams- okay, maybe all of them- and then put those results to decide what he wanted to do for his A Levels. Puffing out a deep sigh, he shelved the thoughts of exams and considerations of becoming a hobo to a place in his mind where he'll touch it later. Then his phone lit up, his lock screen igniting with a new notification.
With a jolt, he leaned over to see who had messaged him and it turned out to be...Arissa?
She hadn't spoken a word to him since she asked him to come to Denise's funeral. The blood etched in his fingers suddenly turned cold at the philandering thought of Denise straying into the conscious part of his brain. God, it's been almost three months since her death.
He unlocked his phone to see the message. Hey, we need to talk.
Why?
Luckily, she was online so she typed back just as quick: I'll tell you why. Just meet me at Mamounia.
Confusion muddled in his mind but he grabbed a sweater tossed indifferently onto his chair. He zipped himself up, slipped his phone and wallet into his pockets, then head out of his room. As he closed the door to his room, Violet was coming out as well, all decked out in black and lace tights. Fuschia smeared her lips marvellously. "Where you going?" she arched an eyebrow, her electric blue eyes, identical to his, narrowing on him. "Out to do your boyfriend?"
He rolled his eyes at her, pursed his lips, and replied with a clipped tone: "I'm just meeting a friend. She's a girl."
"Aren't you gay?"
He flipped her the bird before he picked his way down the hallway of their house. Violet snickered, "I'm just joking!"
His middle finger made a second reappearance and he could practically feel Violet smirking, "Love you, brother."
Since it was May, the chilly weather of Bristol was balmy and bearable so Sebastian took it upon himself go headfirst into the brisk morning air. He pulled his flannel tighter against himself as another gust of wind rustled his hair and roused some pink into his cheeks and nose. It was one thing if you were waiting in the cold for the bus, but it was a whole different story when you were walking into the belly of the beast - more like the ice cube up Mother Nature's ass.
It was weird how different a landscape could appear from night to day. He'd walked - well, ran - this same stretch of the neighborhood last night when he and Niko was racing each other across his neighbourhood, with a bottle of stolen Smirnoff hid under Niko's jacket from the convenience store, running like their pants on fire and collapsing into laughter when they reached his bedroom, filled with the disbelief they managed to pull that off. He remembered drinking straight alcohol, kissing Niko till their lips were purple and then Rae- Niko's sister exploding onto Niko's phone, demanding Niko to come back home immediately because a two-nights sleepover at Sebastian's place was simply unacceptable.
His neighbourhood actually looked kind of interesting, if not depressing, when you stopped to see the overgrown lawns and the loose shingles on the rooftops instead of a blur through the dim light of a lamp post in your peripheral. If Sebastian was a poetic kind of guy, he might say the same thing about Niko. When you stopped and notice something for what it was, paid attention to detail and saw it in a different light, it gets much more intriguing.
Mamounia was a mausoleum of dimly lit rooms, black and white tiles, flavoured shisha, candle-light tables, their glass stained windows foggy with streaks of raindrops running down the glass, purple orchids sprouting out of black marble vases, creating a small, intimate and trendy affair for those who could afford it. He spotted Arissa sitting inside by the far corner, stabbing into her salad and plopping endives into her mouth as a plastic tube connected to her shisha was resting gingerly next to her delicate cup of black coffee.
It's been a few months since he first saw Arissa but she was still beautiful. Dark hair scrunched up in a loose top-knot with a few strands pulled up to frame her face, wild dark eyes and pasty olive skin. Tucked into a thick, bohemian scarf and a puffy jacket, Arissa seemed to look swallowed up in clothes as she twirled rocket leaves and feta cheese together. Her head tilted upwards and her gaze landed on him when she heard a door being pushed open, brightening up when she realized it was.
"Hey," she said, almost awkwardly when he took the seat opposite of him. It felt so weird after everything that happened. The tone of their interactions shifted drastically after that night.
"Hey," he greeted, "So...what's the problem?"
"Order something first," she recommended. He seemed hesitant. Mamounia wasn't cheap. "I'll pay, Bash."
So he did. A Heineken in a cold frosted glass and a fancy beef Reuben sandwich. He wasn't that hungry but he wanted something to do other than endure painful, awkward silences. When the waitress had finished jotting down his order and skipped off to the kitchen, Arissa took it upon herself to start a conversation.
"So..." she trailed off, "How have you been?"
"Good. You?"
He began to notice slight fractures in her appearance. Something about her seemed different from the girl he knew before. She had lost a lot of weight. Her cheekbones protruded out so sharply, it's angular shape was sharp enough to carve marble and her clavicle stuck out from her skin like white cloth stitched across tent poles. Her long sleeves covered them but when they rolled up a little, revealing skin on her wrists, he noticed injection marks. Her dark eyes circles were larger than his own social circles, covered under patchy Lancome foundation. Good," she swallowed, sipping her coffee. "My IGSCEs results came."
"Oh, yeah, same."
"How did you go?" He inquired lightly. A smile bequeathed Arissa's face. First one in ages.
"Pretty good- that was what I came to talk to you about, actually." She straightened up a little. His sandwich and coffee arrived, plopped in front of him. "My dad was happy with what I got. Enough to make the cut for A-Levels at Saintsbury."
Saintsbury Prep was an all-girls, super posh and super expensive school that she and Denise attended. It was like a female version of Eton, pretty much.
"Wow," he said, feeling his stomach droop at the state of his own grades. "That's- that's fantastic."
"But I'm not staying."
"Wait, why?"
"Well, I'm...moving."
"What- what do you mean?"
She fidgeted with the handle of her mug, "It's...uh...my dad wants me to be in Canada."
He nearly spat out his beer. "Canada?"
"I know it's far," she began to explain, "But...my dad, he, uh, one of his brothers are in Canada and I, uh, I think that'd be good for me. He saw what happened to Denise- it was a big scandal and all, you know. Plenty of parents are pulling out their kids...and he thinks being in that environment will 'cultivate' a drug problem," Her lips curled sarcastically. "The good thing is...I kind of want to go. I'll finally get out of here, especially, y'know, after everything that happened." Denise.
"I see." Did he?
"You understand, right?" Her eyes pleaded with him to nod.
"Yeah...why can't you just finish your A Levels here, though? Do you really want to go with what your Dad wants? Another boarding school in another country?"
She sighed. "I know it'd be easier to do it here but...it'd be cool to go to Canada, experience things for myself, move on from..."
"I know." His hand shot out to squeeze hers. She flinched at the contact. "But it's just so sudden."
She laughed morosely, "I know, I know but I think it'd be good for me. I haven't accepted yet but I'm going to. I'm just letting you know...since you are my friend."
"If that's what you want." He bit into his sandwich and swirled the salty, stale taste in his mouth to make himself feel better. Arissa was leaving. He didn't know what to do with that. He didn't know how to feel about that.
"Thanks," Arissa said, "I knew you understand."
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am i subtly hitting a potential arissa story? mAYBE
anyway, please vote, comment and tell me what you think!