Oceans by Seafret
|Rosie|
I'm trying to ignore the heated conversation Cillian and Lily are engaged in on the opposite side of the room, but it's proven rather difficult. Every hurtful word they spit at each other pierces my heart a little more. Everyone—except Cillian—knows his drinking has been getting progressively worse in recent weeks. Honestly, I don't think I've seen him sober in months.
The hand resting on my waist tightens, dragging my gaze away from my best friend and the beautifully broken man. Sean Morgan and his aquamarine eyes scan my body from head to toe, making me feel wanted and desired. His handsome, yet boyish face looks at me as if he's waiting on the answer to his question.
"I'm sorry," I apologize for my ignorance. "What did you say?"
His soft chuckle makes his shoulders shake. "It's okay. I was just saying, it seems O'Shea is still a drunken asshole."
With a raised brow, I step out of his reach. "Excuse me?"
Sean takes hold of my hand; he must notice the look of horror on my face because he's quick to apologize.
"Shit! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I know you two are close. It's just... I've watched you follow him around for years; he's too stupid to realise you're standing right in front of him." He reaches up, pushing a stray hair from my face. "You deserve better than that. Any man lucky enough to have your attention should kiss the ground you walk on."
I wanted this, a man who sees me. I drink in his features. He looks nothing like Cillian. His ashy blonde hair is cut tightly to his scalp; his aquamarine eyes—so light, they're almost transparent—rest under his naturally furrowed brow. And a sharp jawline that could carve glass frames his face. Technically, he's gorgeous, but I don't feel... it. The heart-stopping, earth-quaking, soul claiming rush I have when I'm around Cillian. But, isn't that what tonight is all about? Letting all those daydreams I've spent years living in, go; to move on from the boy whose heart is undeniably unattainable.
I wonder if letting him go is an option. Glancing over at Cillian once more, that's when I see it. My heart, breaking right before my eyes. He's leaning back in the old leather armchair with his eyes closed. But that's not what's caused my stomach to drop ten thousand feet. No, it's the girl straddling his lap and the way his arms are clutching her waist as her lips travel over the protruding vein that creeps out of the neckline of his t-shirt. The blatant disregard for my feelings and the deafening sound of every promise of someday comes crashing down with a heavy ear-piercing silence against the floor. I watch the way his hand teases the hem of her crop top, and suddenly, all the air in the room dissipates. I need to get out of here; away from him and the feelings that are threatening to pull me under.
"I'm going to head home." Sean's eyes crinkle with disappointment at my announcement, but I can't stay here a second longer. I'm well aware, whatever it is between Cillian and I, it does not resemble a relationship. And I'm all sorts of crazy for getting jealous over someone I haven't kissed since I was ten years old. But I can't help it; I'm not like Lily. I can't acknowledge my feelings and then tell them to fuck off. They're very present and staying here will only aggravate them more.
After walking over to the coat rack, I pull on my leather jacket and head for the door. Right before I turn the handle, Sean gently grips my elbow. "Rosie, wait up." Spinning in place, I face him. "It's dark, let me walk you home?"
"Thanks, but I'm only one field over. It won't take me long." I reassure him.
"Please, I'd feel like a complete dick if I let you walk home at night on your own." Holding his hands up, in an 'I mean no harm' gesture, he adds "I promise to keep these to myself." His smouldering smirk makes me blush.
"Fine, but if I even see so much as a fingernail emerging in my direction, I won't be responsible for your death. Deal?"
He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his washout denim jeans, laughing off my teasing. "Deal."
***
Together, using our phones as torches, we trail through the grassy field between the O'Shea house and mine. Glancing down at Sean's—no longer—pristine white Nike's, I cringe internally at the sticky, wet, muddy grass stuck to the soles. I nervously look around at everything but his face. The quiet night air does nothing to fill the silence. "I'm sorry about your shoes."
"Eh, it's alright. They're old anyway."
I don't miss the twitch above his brow as he responds to my apology or the way his face scrunches after he steps into the puddle beneath his feet.
"Shit!"
Coming to an abrupt halt, I stop him in his tracks.
"Look, I really appreciate you wanting to walk me home, but it's just through that gap beside the oak tree." I point in that general direction, using my flashlight app to light the way. It's about 100 meters from where we are standing.
Sean looks between me and his Nike's. "Are you sure? I... I can walk you the whole way."
"I'm sure. It's not too far. I've been walking these fields since I was six years old. I'll be fine. Promise."
"Okay, if you're sure. But, before you go... umm, I was sort of hoping you would have dinner with me sometime? I know, you have a thing for Cillian and I'm probably an idiot for even asking, but I like you, Rosie. I think you're smart, pretty, and we would have a lot of fun together. Who knows? Maybe it's me you're supposed to be with and not that clueless drunk. I'm sorry, no, you know what, I'm not. That's what he is, a clueless drunk idiot to not recognize what an amazing girl he has right in front of him." Taking my hand gently, he looks deep into my eyes, "But, I do Rosie. I recognize how amazing you are, and I would love to take you out. What do you say?"
I should be mad at him for speaking about Cillian that way. I should tell him to take a hike... but then I remember the girl all over Cillian and the hurt it caused me. Pulling a deep breath in through my nose, I blow it out and give in to his request. "How does next Saturday sound?"
"Really?"
I smile at his reaction. "Yes, really. Why not?"
"Oh, okay. Great. I'll pick you up at seven. Night, Rosie." He gives me one more shy smile before he turns and walks away.
"Night, Sean."
I head towards the tree lining both properties, but instead of walking past it, I head up the handmade wooden ladder and into the treehouse. I need to process all the events of this evening and this place is exactly where to do it. Once I climb inside, I pull out my old purple throw, a few pillows, my sketch pad, and pencils. I spend the next hour bleeding my thoughts onto paper, the pencil rushes across the page, line after line until finally, I look down at the drawing.
Cillian, always Cillian.
|Cillian|
The red glow coming from the small digital clock resting on my bedside locker illuminates my otherwise dark bedroom. It's nine forty-five and I've barely slept a wink. Rolling over onto my back, I release a frustrated groan. Between the alcohol and everything else that went down last night, my mind wouldn't shut off. I know I need to fix this, and not just with Rosie, but Lily too.
She shouldn't have to see me like that. Especially after everything that went down with Da over the years. I was so far out of line I couldn't even see the damn thing. I behaved like a total wanker, one that deserved every word she spat at me. I know my drinking habits bother her, and usually, I'm more conscious not to overdo it around her. Today's agenda: apologize for acting like a dickhead.
I gently lift my weighted head up from the pillow. Jesus Christ, how much did I drink last night? The groggy heaviness from all the alcohol I consumed forces me to slump back down. The potent smell of liquor fills the surrounding air, its stale scent burning my nostrils with every breath I inhale. Fuck me, I need a shower. After dragging my lifeless body from my bed, I make my way to the small connecting bathroom between Lily's room and mine. Trying my best to keep the noise to a minimum so I don't wake her. I still can't face her after being such an asswipe last night.
I twist the temperature dial on the shower up to the hottest setting; hoping to sweat the rest of last night out through my pores. Once I'm finished, I pull on my clothes and head back to my room. Grabbing my notepad and pen from my desk, I sling my guitar case over my shoulder and head for my thinking spot. I need somewhere I can breathe.
Oldtown is a twenty-minute drive from Dublin City Centre, but to the city slickers, it's the sticks. There's not much to look at around this part of the country unless you like green fields and back roads, but I love it here. It's peaceful.
The next house is about one kilometre down the road, and it belongs to Cian and Rosie's parents. The place is about three times bigger than ours and they own all the land surrounding it. Their fields stretch right to the boundary of ours, divided by a thorn hedgerow and a large oak tree.
I make my way over to the old tree that separates the two properties. When we were kids, our Ma's let us build a treehouse in it. I still come here every now and again, it's where I go when I need space to write or just think.
Climbing my way up the old rickety ladder, I take extra care on the rotten step.
It's hard to believe this place is still standing; we must have been only twelve when we built it with Ma and Maggie. When I reach the top, I spot the old treasure trunk in the corner. Lily and Rosie thought it would be a great idea to store blankets and cushions in it, for the cold Irish summer evenings.
I lift the lid, and sure enough, there they are. Rosie's lavender and apple-scented perfume immediately floods my senses. She must have been here recently. She always loved coming out here to draw and judging by the new art pinned on the wooden walls—that's exactly what she was doing. My eyes scan each piece, everything from roses and thorns to birds and trees, then finally, a broken man and his guitar. His head is bent and his eyes are closed as if he is letting the music take control. She must have been here this morning because every detail of this drawing is identical to how I looked last night. I can never understand how she does it, captures a moment so perfectly with just a pencil and paper. Gently, I take the picture from the wall, folding it carefully and sticking it into the pocket at the front of my guitar case.
Placing the purple rug and a few pillows from the box onto the floor for comfort, I take a seat and grab my guitar. The morning sun rises over the horizon, glowing through the cut-out Perspex windows. The birds sing in the trees, chirping with the promise of a new day. I pull out my worn leather-bound notebook and page.
Dear Snow,
For every picture you draw me, I'll write you a song.
Love, Charming
My fingers move across the strings as a new melody forms in my mind. This is what I do, I write music. I let each note take away the worries of yesterday. I lose myself in every chord. Lyrics push to the forefront of my mind and I scribble them down as they come.
"I pray to God above; he will save me.
The devil's sent a fallen one to claim me.
The lust I feel inside, this greed to make her mine.
Her beauty has got me on my knees. On my knees.
She's the girl all the others envy.
Skin as fair as the winter's snow.
I'm a glutton for those eyes, the colour of the bluest sky.
Anywhere she goes, I will follow, will follow.
This war, going on between us,
is one they never meant for me to win.
My heart belongs to a fallen angel.
Who's wrapped up in seven deadly sins!
Red lips like the apple of Eden.
Hair black as an onyx stone.
Oh, it is not a lie. She will be my demise.
Straight to the gates of hell is where I'll go. Where I'll go.
I pray to God above. He will free me,
The devil took my soul for her to keep.
I try to fight against the wrath inside me.
But her heart is the only one I seek. One I seek.
This war, going on between us,
is one they never meant for me to win.
My heart belongs to a fallen angel.
Who's wrapped up in seven deadly sins!
Oh, my heart belongs to a fallen angel.
Who's wrapped up in seven deadly sins!
Rosie, always, Rosie.