I finally got time to upload the new chapter. I love how they are all bonding. :)
I hope you enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Don't forget to listen the songs I post next to the chapters, and of course, please do give feedback :)
Chapter 7 - Human contact
I wake up on the master bed all alone, and that's only a good thing. Last night after the incident in the woods, I walked back with my head fuzzy with thoughts and my heart dizzy with the twirling feelings I couldn't quite place anywhere. I was tired and the only sensible thing to do was to go to sleep, so I let Jocelyn unlock the door, and then lock it behind me so no one could get in. In the morning, though, when most of the people had left, Jocelyn unlocked it again. She peeked in and asked me if I was alright, and I mumbled back sleepily. I don't remember exactly what I said to her, just that I did say something.
I punch the pillow to make it fluffier and rest my head atop of it. I'm glad the window is open just a little, because I want cold water and nice cool air. But I'm too lazy to get the first, so the window crack will do, supplying me with some kind of breeze.
Then I hear mumbles, and drag myself closer to the edge of the bed and look over it. Anton's sleeping on the floor with no pillow or blanket. His shirt is crumpled into a ball and I suppose it was meant to replace a pillow, but he has moved away from it, and now his head is against the carpeted floor. I guess the carpet made sleeping there easier, plus the alcohol in his blood stream.
I sigh and can't help but stare at him. He looks so calm, like he knows all there is to know about the world, or doesn't know anything at all, but is utterly satisfied.
Suddenly his eyes open, and he turns his head a little to look back at me. I smirk and rest my elbows on the bed, placing my face between my hands. Last night comes to me in a rush, how I had thought about Anton kissing me, and I try to shake it off, because what he says next confirms that nothing was supposed to happen.
"Man, I was so drunk," he mumbles, his eyes moving to stare at the ceiling. He brushes a hand over his face and lets it rest on top of the pillow. "I barely remember anything." And I think that even if he had tried anything last night, there wouldn't have been a sober part of him that would have remembered anything, and I don't know if I'm glad, or disappointed. It's weird, the feeling I have developed, or rather the feeling that has developed itself without my knowing. At one point it's just there.
I chuckle, and say: "Then there are no regrets." And he glances at me with a questioning look plastered on his face, but I shake my head as to assure that nothing happened, or at least nothing that I know of. "What are we doing today?" I rush ahead of things. First things first, we have to walk downstairs, say goodbye to Jocelyn, then walk back to the campus, where we may or may not go back to sleep, or possibly snake out all the school books from our bags, and put them in order of classes on the table (which we probably won't do). There are endless possibilities. We might as well go back to sleep here.
"I'm thirsty," he says, rubbing his stomach which is completely bare. "And hungry." My eyes land on his naked chest and I try to force myself to look away, but it's like they are nailed there. Finally I manage to change my view, staring through the window, instead.
A thought crosses my mind: maybe I'm hungry for human touch, or human emotion.
"Is there a bathroom somewhere?" Anton asks and covers his mouth as he yawns. I smile at him, mostly because his eyes are closed, and he can't see me, secondly because he looks funny like that. But mostly I let myself smile publicly because he can't see me do it.
Anton stands up.
"In the hallway I think," I say and stretch out on the bed, rolling onto my back, my head over the edge of the bed, so I can see Anton upside down. And for a moment I wonder if I'm still drunk, even though I didn't drink that much, but my actions reflect excess alcohol that might be stuck in my arteries.
He's wearing sweatpants, and sunlight caresses his back. I exhale and close my eyes, bringing my head back on the bed, so I can't look at him. Something's wrong with me. I had never thought of a boy that way, and now my mind is rushing with thoughts. Damn him for trying to make a move on me last night. I would have never thought of him like that if he hadn't.
Why is it that a human starts thinking about something when he's given the push? Why can't he just stay not-thinking about it? I hear footsteps leave the room and I punch the mattress with my clenched fist.
I guess you can't have a new starts with the same old thoughts, or the same people, or the same place. Everything has to be new. But I'm not crazy about my new mind, it's not exactly improved, rather on the edge of shutting down. What happens when it does shut down? What happens if I can't control it anymore?
What happens if it's no longer mine? Not the one I used to know?
When I walk downstairs, I decide that I need to know what Anton remembers. Curiosity killed the cat, well, thankfully I'm not a cat, and what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right? So it can't hurt to know. I'm not sure what I'll get out of it, knowledge? But I want to know if he remembers.
Jocelyn is downstairs making pancakes, not caring about the few people who are still sleeping. After I say good morning and ask her about why she's making that many pancakes, she replies with a shrug: "If you want to be a good host, you have to go all the way." She slides a plate to me, then pushes two freshly fried pancakes on it, and points to a jar: it's apple jam, and I can't wait to dig in.
"About last night," Jocelyn says calmly, and I raise my eyebrow, chewing on the pancake. "I assure you I don't want a boyfriend. Trust me, I don't." She glances over her shoulder and gives a reassuring smile. "I just crave intense emotions," she chuckles. "It gets lonely here all by myself."
"You're here on your own?" I'm surprised. This house is way too big to be living on your own, not to mention it's in the middle of the woods. Who knows what crazy kids sneak off from campus and come here to fool around (romantic or breaking into the house).
"My dad's new wife thought it would be appropriate for me to live on my own, because I'm such a princess and shouldn't share a room with strangers. Her only purpose was to seem like the perfect step-monster in my father's eyes," she explains, and rolls her eyes. "But thankfully I get to throw amazing parties, huh?" There is sadness in her eyes.
"You just don't want to feel lonely," I mutter, and wait for her to snap something back at me, because I shouldn't have said that.
She sighs. "That's why I want to play spin the bottle," she continues, sadness creeping to her voice. "So I have a reason to make human contact." She turns off the cooker and places one hand on her hip, turning around a little, so she can look at me. "And I smoke because sometimes my thoughts are too loud. But when you have a puffy cloud hovering in your lungs, and a fictional one in your mind, it's easier."
She steps closer and brushes strands of my hair away, even though they fall right back to where they were. Her hands moves down and cups my cheek, and I raise my head a little and look into her eyes. "My skin tingles," she laughs, not breaking eye contact. "But I don't think I can kiss anymore." She drops her hand and rests her palms on the kitchen counter, leaning. It seems like there is heavy weight on her shoulders and chest.
"But you can still hug me if you want," I say and she snorts quietly. And all the nonsense thoughts from earlier are gone. I have a step-brother, who is my friend, and a broken girl, who is also my friend. It's all okay; there is no room for over-thinking.
"I'm so glad you walked into my life," she says. "I'm even glad Anton chased after Emma, because I think he was part of why she chose to come here." She takes a spoonful of the apple jam and shoves it into her mouth. "Where is he anyways?"
And it's true that a lot of time has passed, and he's still not here. "Upstairs," I reply and push myself up from the bar stool. Jocelyn swallows another spoonful of jam, her eyes following me to the stairs. My feet are a tad bit heavy, but it doesn't slow me down, or make climbing the stairs any bit harder.
I walk to the bathroom, the door is slightly open, and with my sneaker, I push it open even further. Anton is cradling the toilet. I bit my lip and unwillingly go to him and nudge him with my shoe.
"Hey, get up," I say to him. He opens his eyes and looks confused. I take his arm and pull him up, but I don't have the strength, he needs to put some effort to it, too. A drunken person is not easy to carry. He finally manages to stand up with my help, leaning hard against me, so I can barely manage under all the weight. I bring him to the sink and tell him to wash his mouth and face, and use some tooth washer fluid. He does what is asked of him, but he needs time. I'm trying to support him the best I can, but it's tricky. He spits out the liquid and takes some water in his mouth, which he spits out as well.
"You're good," I say to him, and try to urge him towards the shower.
"Man, I just got so tired here," he chuckles and puts an arm around my shoulders.
"You weren't this drunk when you woke up," I mumble and push him against the wall, holding him in place with my hand, so he wouldn't fall, and meanwhile turn the shower on.
He laughs, throwing his head back, nearly hitting it against the wall, but even if he does, he doesn't notice it. "I found some bottles in the closet," he says. It's like the funniest thing to him. "I drank them," he snorts, holding onto his stomach, laughing.
"Take your pants off," I tell him, but all I get is a chuckle, and a haughty response.
"Oh, you want to see me naked?" he shakes his head, which makes it more difficult to hold him in place. "It's not appropriate on a first date."
"I meant your sweatpants," I mutter to myself, a little irritated, "but clothes it is." And I push him towards the shower. He steps in willingly, but then panics when cold water spills over his bare chest. I step in front of the open doors, so he can't go past me. I feel my shirt clinging to my stomach, it's like I'm taking a shower, too.
"It's so cold," he whimpers, and I turn it even colder, so he'd sober up. "I need a drink, immediately." He rests his hands on the back wall of the shower, so that the water spills on his back. His mouth is slightly open, his hair sticking in different directions. "I need vodka."
"No, you need water," I disagree. He shakes his head, biting down on his lower lip, now.
"I had a thought yesterday about Clarice," he starts, not looking at me. When he pauses, the only sound is the water rushing from the shower. "It was stupid and I decided to get drunk, so I'd forget." There is a moment where a shiver runs along my back, but I think it's from the cold. I reach to turn the shower off, but he stops me by grabbing my hand. "No, don't. It helps me keep my head clear," he says, looking dead serious into my eyes.
And then whatever he tried to say goes away. He just stares at me for five more seconds, and then turns around, tilting his head so that water runs down his face, also. I look down at my hand which he held onto a moment ago, there is still a mark from the grip, but it's fading. He wanted to tell me something, but we don't know each other that well. I didn't know he existed until three days ago.
It's not the time to share secrets. It's not the time to share fears.
It's the time for a new start, like I keep reminding myself. And why would anyone spill secrets, if they wanted to start fresh? Wouldn't secrets ruin any chance of starting over?
He turns the shower off, and I step away so he can exit it. "I'm not sure I like being sober," he chuckles and searches for a towel.
There is a knock on the door, which is still open, but Jocelyn has manners. "I heard the shower," she explains and reaches out her hand which is holding a white towel. "Are you okay?" she asks, referring the question to Anton.
He accepts the towel and starts to dry his body, although his pants are soaking. "I'm sober," he replies to which Jocelyn nods. It's sad that he can't say he's okay, but at least he can think for himself, instead of letting alcohol manipulate his actions.
"What now?" Anton asks, running a hand through his wet hair. I shrug, and look to Jocelyn.
"Well, I can find you some dry pants," she says, crossing her arms. "And you can have some breakfast while Howard can help me clean the house a bit."
"Why would you have guy's pants here?" Anton wonders, puckering his eyebrows, a huge invisible question mark on his forehead.
"I wasn't always alone here," she says and puts one foot out the door, then looks over her shoulder. "Come on, let's go."
And when Jocelyn gives Anton brand new boxers and a pair of navy sweatpants, plus a new shirt because his was crumpled on the floor, he disappears to the closet, while Jocelyn and I sit on the edge of the master bed. I look at her sideways, and she sighs. "It's a long story, for another time," she says to me, a smile on her face, but she's trying to hide her true feelings.
"I understand," I nod and put my arm around her. We both smile, but are interrupted by Anton, who steps out of the closet.
"How do I look?" he raises his eyebrow, and Jocelyn gives him a thumbs up.
"Sober," she laughs and grabs my hand, pulling me up. At the door, she lets go of my hand and rushes downstairs. Anton and I follow her. She's putting pancakes on a plate, and adds jam to them. Anton sits down, and I start waking up sleeping people, while Jocelyn throws thrash into a huge black garbage bag.
At one point, she turns on the radio and starts dancing along to the music. When Anton finishes his breakfast, he steps in to help, twirling Jocelyn in the middle of the living room and bumping hips with me as he throws cups into the bag.