Finally an update, and I hope you like it :)
PS: Posted a one-shot, which is about Jack (Frost) and Jamie.
Chapter 9 – Criminal
Day three and it’s still just the two of us, plus Jocelyn and Emma. And as tragic as it is to admit, we have also met Lorcan Pintes who, from what I’ve heard (overheard), has quite a reputation, meaning basically nobody knows what his deal is. Except for the fact that the girl he mentioned has actually (rumour has it) confirmed what happened.
Yes, it’s day four and I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, ready for school, but my legs don’t want to move. My backpack is on the floor, and looks like it doesn’t want to brush against other people or the desks, so I guess we’re on the same page.
Anton opens the door, towel wrapped around his waist, a little breathless. His eyes fall on mine and a boyish smile appears on his lips. I’ve rested my hands on the edge of the bed, and I’m tense, yet bored, yet lost, yet disappointed, yet hopeful. And none of it makes sense.
“Too many people wake up too late,” he says and throws his shower gadgets (shampoo and soap) on the bed, creating water droplets on the sheets. “I have to develop a better relationship with my alarm clock.”
I manage a smile, my eyes glassy. “Should I wait for you?” I ask and shake my head, because there are clouds in my mind, and they are threatening with rain, or snow, or knives.
I need sunshine.
I can’t let myself get lost. I can’t this time.
“Um,” he mumbles, trying to dry his hair with another towel. He looks helplessly around, closes one eye, and then opens it. You could say it was cute. “I guess you can go. We shouldn’t both be late. Yes, go. It’s fine.” He nods to convince me further, but I’m already sold. I need to get into a bigger room. I need air.
I sit there, listening to the teacher speak about literature, how we’re expressing ourselves through words, and don’t usually want to reveal it all in ink, but instead hide the real message between the lines, layers upon layers, so the most valuable treasure is not found by the dumb; that the privilege belongs to only those who seek deeper.
Layers upon layers like paint, layers upon layers like make-up, like the Earth – is there anything worth discovering at all, or will the curiosity burn you alive?
I wonder if Anton made it to his class on time.
The teacher continues his lecture, and right now he looks like Hamlet performing his monologue. Will his class have a tragic, utterly twisted ending?
But in the end, the bell rings, and he wishes us a good day even though there isn’t even a slight hint that he means it, so maybe it’s under layers and layers of silence, and I’m too stupid to notice it.
The students flow out of the door, pressing through, so they could get wherever on time. I’m the last one to exit.
And I add layer upon layer on the canvas in the art’s class. All the different kinds of blues, some shades of grey and the black droplets are like rotten cherries. Red might ruin it all.
At first I don’t know what it’s supposed to be, but then it’s a house; it’s a collapsing building that can’t even be called a building, but merely a ruin, shaken by the winds and torn by the storms, flooded by rain and the ever-changing sea.
I don’t know why I picked literature if I’m so into art. I’m not good with words.
But to live out all of your emotions using a paintbrush and splashes of colour is a whole other dimension, one you get so lost in; like a pitch black hole that swallows everything, sucks the life out of this world and destroys you, as if you were garbage, as if you were a porcelain doll that was meant to fall and be on the floor in a hundred little pieces, so before anyone else can wreck you, it does it itself.
It wraps itself around your being and ties its limbs around your soul, squeezing, until you run out of air.
But then you breathe.
And everything is okay again.
My mom once had a boyfriend who took all my brushes and paint away. He wanted us to call him dad. I don’t have a dad.
And I wrote it on the garage door in spray paint. He wasn’t happy, but I was, and mom saw that. Later, when he came home, his stuff was on our lawn, and he never showed his face again. Mission accompliced.
At lunch I see Anton, and even Jocelyn is sitting there, slouched against the wall. It is our usual spot. It’s like everyone has accepted us being there, and they don’t want to interrupt our peace, or maybe it is said too soon.
I got it out of my system. I painted, and now it’s okay again. Sometimes we need to drain ourselves from everything to start over.
I’m able to smile; I want to.
Anton seems really hungry, and he doesn’t even bother to wait until he sits down, he already takes a bite from his cheeseburger and chews it happily. Jocelyn raises her eyes, acknowledging our presence, and then drops her glare back to the floor. I guess the world underneath the table is more fascinating than her friends.
“I want a cigarette,” she sighs, not moving. She looks sad and I wonder if it’s school or other worries that is making her want to smoke.
“Why don’t you?” Anton asks, putting his elbows on the table.
I raise my eyebrow, waiting for her to respond, but she just closes her eyes and exhales.
A couple of minutes pass in silence, and then she finally speaks again.
“I lost my pack,” she mumbles under her breath and shakes her head like she can’t believe it happened. Forgetting and losing things are normal. Isn’t it supposed to be part of life?
“So, why don’t you get some?” Anton suggests, and his eyes shift to somewhere beyond us.
There is something in his eyes that makes me look over my shoulder and see for myself. I can’t tell if it’s fear, or curiosity, or maybe both.
I see Lorcan Pintes grinning, staring at his phone, not noticing us staring, and I thank the mighty forces for that. I shift my eyes back to Anton. “Is it another one of your brilliant plans?” I question his ideas. He rolls his eyes.
“Man, why are you so negative all the time?” he mutters and grunts. “This is actually brilliant, believe it or not.”
I don’t want to believe it, because it’s difficult to expect him to come up with something other than awfully stupid (it’s an exaggeration, obviously).
“So?” I ask, leaning closer, a frown upon my face. I set my elbows on the table, following Anton’s lead, and entwine my fingers, resting my chin on top of them. I am listening.
“Why don’t we figure this Lorcan dude out?” Anton continues a foxy look about him. “I mean, if Jocelyn needs her cigarettes, we could ask him to get her those. Wasn’t he supposed to be a master thief and the campus genius?”
A smirk spreads over my lips, and Anton notices it, replying with the same. “Jocelyn,” I slowly turn my head to face her. She opens her eyes, hugging her knees to her chest. “How badly do you need your cigarettes?”
She’s confused, but that’s all right; she hasn’t met Lorcan I guess. And maybe it’s better if she doesn’t.
“It’s my valerian,” she whispers mysteriously, and smiles.
Anton snorts and when I send him a look, he meows at me.
“But I think, since he discovered us, we should do it,” I say. Anton thinks about for a moment and then nods. “It would be fair not to include Jocelyn into this mess.”
“There’s a mess? You’ve been here for four days,” she’s surprised.
“No, there’s not a mess, yet,” Anton emphasizes and drinks his sparkling water. “In case there will be, you won’t be included. It’s our plan, our mess, and we will take the responsibility for it.” He looks at Jocelyn, then at me, then nods and pushes himself up. “Now it’s time to take a nap.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like class?” I ask, annoyed by the fact that Anton has become sloppy and lazy.
“I have fifteen minutes and that will be fine by me,” he says, walking backwards, then turns around and puts the tray on top of the others.
Next class we have together again, and let’s just say that for him, fifteen minutes isn’t enough. He looks like a zombie, or like someone who’s high on something. Whenever the teacher asks him something, which is twice, he smiles his boyish smile and nods to everything the teacher says. But since our teacher is female, Anton’s reactions only make her blush slightly, even though she doesn’t want to admit that.
After class, we hang at the fountain. We’re waiting for Lorcan to step out of the trees or between the buildings or from the shadows. But he’s disappeared.
“Maybe it was another one of my bad plans,” Anton says, his eyes sad, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shaking his leg nervously.
I put my hand on his elbow. “You’re wrong,” I start. “Tough to admit, but this was actually pretty good.” He looks at me in disbelief, and I nod to assure him. “Everybody likes the tall dark handsome stranger.” I chuckle, and he rolls his eyes.
“And here I thought I was the stranger for you, what a disappointment,” he says, a glint in his eyes.
I hear the leaves rustling as a gentle breeze rises and fades. Then I look behind Anton and see a figure.
“There he is,” I whisper, and everything about the situation is ironic. “Our hero.”
Anton chews his lower lip. “He’s a criminal.”
“A criminal we need,” I correct him, and pat him on the shoulder to indicate that we should move.