The girl is very very beautiful. Handsome – you think. She is plausible, convincing, likable even though it's evident that she isn't trying to be. She is pretty, with a tangle of red-brown hair, big green eyes, a round button nose, and a constellation of freckles on her cheeks (her freckles are light and beautiful, like something from a fairytale, like something that goes well with her light, sunburned skin, nothing like the dark spots on your tanned face).
Her lips are quivering. Her eyes are watchful. (She can't be older than thirteen, you decide).
She is far far far away, eyes dancing, scared and complicated, like everything is new to her like nothing makes sense, like everything is dangerous and cunning and conspiring against her.
(You don't know her. You don't know anything about her. For some, you know, like your long-dead sister, it might be).
(It might be).
She is hanging close to a big bearded man, tall like a giant, dark like a dwarf. He looks scruffy and tired and hurt and he has a protective air around him, like a hungry bear. Like a loving parent.
(He's not her father, you decide. Too much tension. Too much awkwardness and not enough stern gives that away).
His eyes, like the nameless girl's eyes, are narrowed and dangerous and above all, hunted by past experiences. He's watching the streets, searching the shadows, looking and looking and looking and you're too far to be certain, but you think he's a good man. He's nothing like the lone strangers that sometimes pass by the town. He's guarded and exhausted, and beneath the surface lies a dark violent instinct of protect and attack (and attack and attack).
(You don't like him, but you think he's a good man).
The girl has dirty hair and a quick strength about her, like dancers grace. Something inside her is sneering confidence and nervousness mixed together. (A surface of self-belief and self-doubt that you don't understand).
There is no arrogance, just the iron skin of protectiveness and regard.
Like the girl, the tall muscular man doesn't seem to like what he sees, and like the girl, the tall muscular man is stiff and hunched and ready to fight, like he finds the peaceful street and the protective gates and the soft faces around him to be anything but comfortable and safe.
(You don't know them, and you try your best not to judge them. They are dirty and tired and they have cuts all over their faces. The girl's fists are squeezed tight. The man's right hand lingers too close to his belt, ready to reach for a hidden weapon. The clothes they are wearing are old and worn out and in desperate need of washing. It looks like they were wearing them for quite some time. The girl's shirt has holes in it and the man's plaid button-up is stretched on an outsized chest).
(You are fascinated).
The girl is looking around her, pale eyes seizing everything with hunger and mistrust. Her piercing green eyes are taking in every little detail and a scowl is forming on her face. It's a little of a pity that you sense so much darkness about her and you wonder who she is and what's her name and what her voice sounds like and if she smiles, how exactly her face will light up?
She's beautiful, even in her shivering, tired, dirty state. Not a straight-nose-blonde-hair kind of beautiful, but a boyish-handsome sort of way. Small and muscular and lean and pretty. Strong and bleeding and exhausted.
Your face is throbbing, hot, and pink. Your lungs are burning, your knees are wobbling.
(Dina, you scold yourself. What the fuck?)
(Your mother would have called her trouble, before feeding her for days. You want to feed her now. You want to ask her a million different questions. You want to know her name).
(You find that you're drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, and no matter what you tell yourself, you can't help it. You can't move and you can't turn and you can't stop looking at her. You stay and you stare and you stare and you stare).
Your breath is coming slow, coming even, coming quiet.
Then her eyes turn and she catches you staring. She presses closer to the big man who can't be her father, finding solace in his shadow, and you gasp and almost lose your footing, surprised and shocked and flustered.
(You don't want her to feel uncomfortable, so you turn your eyes and leave, hoping the welcoming party that's making its way across the square; Tommy and Maria and a couple of others, are indication enough for the strangers intention to stay in town, at least for a couple of days).
//
She leans to you, earnest eager green eyes shining shining shining.
"No!" She gasps, in fake horror but in true excitement and you laugh and laugh and laugh. "He really said that?"
You cock one eyebrow and pretend not to hear her, a self-satisfied smile on your face.
"You're a dick!" she punches your shoulder and your fake expressions crumbles and you both are laughing again. Laughing free and laughing stupid and laughing childish and happy.
You're at Ellie's place. It's small and messy and smells like grease and coffee and sweet perfume that lingers in the air. (You know this smell. It smells like home and like comfort and like femininity. It smells good and protective and strong. It smells like blonde blonde hair and arctic blue eyes and soft scolds and rough expressions that mean good).
"Maria's been here?" you ask, tentatively as to not scare her off, and you wish she won't ask how the hell can you possibly know that.
"Yeah." She shrugs, unaware of how much attention you pay to the details around her. "She wanted to make sure Joel isn't starving me to death or something".
"Well, you look like you could eat more." You point out.
"Fuck you." She says, good naturally and laughing and she pushes your shoulder, young and playful and nothing like the girl you met three weeks ago. You let her tackle you and you fall back and bounce on her mattress.
(It's insane, how things have changed in just short of a month).
Three weeks ago Ellie was guarded and scared and lost and she barely made eye contact. She was watching people with careful angry eyes and she was keeping her distance and she never touched the food on her tray, but stuffed and stuffed and stuffed her pockets with cold jerky and dried meats and freshly baked bread like she was scared eventually its all going to run out.
(Three weeks ago you watched her like she was crazy or hungry or both, and she watched you from the shadows, distant and fearful and untrusting).
Three weeks ago she was glued to the man she came to Jackson with, Joel – you learned his name was – and she refused to talk to anyone who wasn't him or Tommy or Maria. She kept her lips pursed and her fists curled and her stare angry and heated and guarded.
(Three weeks ago you only knew her as the freckled new girl. Now you know her kind eyes and twitching manner and a good laugh and you don't think of her as anything but Ellie).
"Seriously though," you say. "You should consider the bakery on the other side of the market, by the woodwork shop. It has this amazing puffs and some really good cookies".
"Jackson has a bakery?"
"Oh my god!"
"What?"
The two of you sprawled on her bed in her new place. It's small and lovely and suits her well. It used to be a garage or a tool storage, (you don't remember which one exactly), but now it's her home. It sits on the backyard of Joel's big place, right in the corner of a dried garden nobody is tending to, and in the short time she's been living here, she managed to make it feel like home (messy and wild and very much like her).
"What?" you choke, laughing again, pretending to be horrified. "Man, Tommy has a lot to answer for".
"For missing the bakery on his tour?"
"Erm… yeah!" she shakes her head, laughing quietly at your ridiculous notion. "Whatever. We're going there tomorrow. You gonna love it".
"Okay." She says in her special kind of way, dismissive and uncomfortable and shy.
You look around you and try to think of something to say, mainly to take her mind of the subject at hand. You can see her squirming, a little too nervous for your liking.
You make a face. "By the way, did Maria also tried to make you clean?"
She pushes you again. "You're such a jerk".
"No," you say, and do your best to sound innocent. "I mean, you can use some cleaning".
"Hey," she says defensively. "This is exactly why I refused to move in with Joel. He's the worst. And, I mean… this is home, right?"
(Her idea of home is comic books and space figures and slippery rugs. It's old plaid shirts on old hooks, it's boxes of junk and an old couch she dragged in with your generous help from a garbage pile on the street. Her idea of home is an untidy bathroom and a small kitchen and an empty refrigerator and books and books and books).
"Yeah," you say, thinking of your own untidy place. "I guess so".
You lie on her bed, flat on your stomach, and she sits next to you, legs crossed and eyes glimmering. It's late and dark, hot like summer, and the faint yellow light of her old lamp is doing nothing to thin out the shadows. There is no breeze and it's hot. The white curtains that cover the huge window just next to her bed are like gauze bandages, hanging limp. The lights from Joel's house illuminate Ellie's place, and behind the curtains, you can see the moon hanging in the pitch blackness of the sky.
(Spring in Jackson).
"So… do you think they are going to let me out on patrols?" Ellie is fidgeting with her fingers, refusing to meet your eyes.
You shrug, dismissive of her concerns. (You know how frustrating it can be, cooped up in one place after months and months and months of traveling across the country. You've been through this when you first arrived at Jackson. The walls that felt like they were closing around you, the sudden care of the adults, the new safe feeling that feels anything but safe and the thining need to run and run and run, scared out of your mind, sore and aching and terrified).
"I mean… sure. Jesse says you're killing it in trainings, and we really could use extra help".
"You're on patrols, too?"
"You bet your ass I am. They partnered me with this guy, Eugine. Our territory is usually pretty clean so he teaches me a lot about electronics and weapons and traps".
"Wow. He sounds fun".
"He also gives me weed, free no charge".
Ellie's eyes grow big. "Shut the fuck up!"
"No, I swear. He's a really cool dude. A little nuts, but like, in a good way." And you both start laughing again.
Cloth dust and a hint of Maria's perfume fill your nostrils when you settle down. There is a slight mist of light, coming through the cracks of the outer wall, from Joel's house. You can see him on the second floor, from behind the curtains. He's a dark lonely shape, cutout. You see his outline, the gleaming of his house lights.
It's hot and clammy and humid. You're sweating and Ellie is fanning herself with a piece of paper, trying to cool down. Neither of you are wearing much, and you notice Ellie has a bandage around her arm. It's new and it spikes worry in your tightening chest.
"What've you done?" you ask and point at her covered wound.
"Oh," she says dismissively. "It's from before we came here".
(You don't believe her, even though you haven't seen her bare arms up till now. It's been fairly chill and Ellie made a point out of walking around with long-sleeved shirts).
"Don't think about it. I'm just clumsy as fuck".
You snort. "Tell me something I don't know".
"Okay. Erm…" Ellie scratches at the back of her head in a manner that makes you realise she didn't catch the half-joke in your reply. Then she's talking and you are struck with how much of a dumbass she is (lovely, soft, beautiful dumbass). "Jupiter's moon Io has towering volcanic eruptions".
You just stare.
"What?" she says, suddenly unsure and she shrinks, trying to make herself smaller under your hot gaze. She collects her shoulders around her ears and lowers her head. she pears at you under furrowed eyebrows. "What?"
(The sky is clear but hard to make out from inside the room. It's a dark dark sheet covering the world. The moon – an ancient rock – is floating there, full of deadly hardware and hauntingly beautiful). (Not as beautiful as Ellie, you think, in nothing but a huge T-shirt with holes in it and black boxers, looking small and scared, but still, pretty enough).
You keep staring.
"Hey," Ellie says gently, completely miscalculates your sudden silence. She touches your arm with hot fingers. (You jump a little). "Did I say something wrong?"
"What?" and God, you hate to love how scared and small she looks, how unsure. A thin small girl with a golden heart and a scar above her eye. (You know some of her bloody history, and she knows some of yours, but you find purity in ugly past and your stupid heart gives a sickening hard beat against your ribcage and you feel yourself gravitating towards her).
(Fuck, you think. Dina, no. Fuck).
"I dunno," she shrugs, self-conscious and nervous all of a sudden. "You seemed kinda sad for a moment".
"Nah," you wave your hand dismissively, as if it's not a big deal (it is, and if you weren't so damn scared you would have confessed to everything, not knowing what everything really means). "I'm just tired".
You hug her then when she turns her head to give you some sort of privacy for you to put on a pair of shorts and your heavy patrol-shoes as if you haven't just hang out for hours and hours in nothing but a tank-top and a pair of underwear.
You hug her and she's stiff and surprised. You don't think she could have been more surprised if you punched her in the nose.
"I'm not sad." You say gently.
"Okay".
You hug her again, by the open door, with the night sipping into her small home and your heart quick and excited in your chest. (She's so hot and so skinny and so soft, you're tempted to kiss her.) (You don't).
"Hey," she laughs. "What's that for?"
(For you to know that human contact is fine and because you seem so scared and cautious, and I can't stand how sad you look when you think you fucked up).
"Because I feel like it." Is what you say.
(She laughs again, small and breathy and confused, and hugs you back).
//
You run down the street, the mud is slippery and you're having trouble staying upright, sliding and twisting your ankles every few steps, cursing like a drunk sailor and (your mother would have been horrified, had she heard you).
The doors to the barn are open wide and you run through them the fast you can without falling and breaking your neck, snatch the reigns of Japan from an extended hand, blowing air kisses to the laughing men that call silly jokes after you, and salut to Jesse when he narrows his eyes and gives you a stern look, handing you a shotgun.
"Sorry I'm late".
"Are you?" he says in his disappointed voice as if he wasn't the one who made you late. "I haven't noticed".
You give him a sly smile that holds no humor in it.
"Fuck." You breathe, climbing on Japan's back and Ellie sniggers. You shoot her a dirty look.
"Overslept?" she asks and it's so evident how pleased she is with herself, you don't have the heart to be angry at her. You flip her off, though, because you can't give Ellie this win and she shrugs, amused and smiling, shoulders shaking with voiceless laughter.
"Shut up".
(Beaming. Radiant and happy and shining).
"ugh, I hate you".
"I'm just happy to know I'm not the only one having trouble getting up".
"I have no trouble getting it up." You answer, louder than intended, and heads turn your way. Jesse's face is red, so red you're worried he might catch fire, and Ellie gives a loud, barking laugh. You hang your head low and try to look sorry, even though a huge smile splits on your face.
"You're a fucking asshole." You tell her.
"You have toothpaste on your chin." She answers.
Jesse is talking. He's giving his usual speech and you tune him out because you know it by heart and because you're too focused on the beaming girl to your right. (You try not to think about the night you spent with Jesse and you try not to think about what would have Ellie done in his stead, and you try not to think about her hands or her mouth or her smell, when your boyfriend is right in front of you, doing his best to avoid your eyes).
It starts to rain, a drizzle, and the world smells like earth and grass and fresh water.
Ellie tilts her head backward. Jesse barks at someone.
(You keep smiling to yourself).
The patrols are fun, and nothing scary, and everything relaxed. Ellie knows what she's doing (you can hardly believe it's been a year since she joined the patrols) and you like it. You spend hours talking, avoiding all the heavy subjects, and learning important things about each other.
(You tell Ellie about patrols with other members of the patrol unit, like you always do, and Ellie tells you about comic books and her guitar lessons with Joel. You talk about maps and she talks about space. You tell her stories Talia used to tell you and she listens, wide-eyed and smiling).
It didn't take you long to become best friends. In under a month, you couldn't imagine your life without her. You spent your afternoons together, and your trainings trying not to kill each other by accident. You ate and slept and danced and talked. You won mud-fights against other kids, you rode old bikes that someone stole from a nearby village, you watched movies, you bitched about assignments, you laughed and laughed and laughed and pretended to like her taste in music.
(Now, a year later, you don't even remember your life before Ellie).
(You love her).
(It doesn't take you long to realise it. It takes you too long to openly admit it to yourself).
The route is easy and you run into a small group of infected you have no trouble taking down. When you're finished both of you are covered in mud and some fluids that might be blood. Your fingers are hurting and Ellie limps a little, her sneakers are muddy and her hair a mess.
"Nice job".
She beams proudly at you. "I had some practice".
"Alright, show-off. Let's sign in the logbook and head back. Jesse's gonna flip".
"How much did we get?" She unzips her backpack and roams inside for what you guess is her notebook.
You scan the valley before you. It's more of a clearing with wet leaves and dead grass and half a dozen dead infected. You take a deep breath and frown.
"Six. Can we tell Jesse it was twelve?"
"No, you cheat!" Ellie huffs an exhausted, embarrassed laugh. "It's a serious business. Six is a great number".
"I'll remember that." You say, something playful, something tired, and the sigh you let out is speaking volumes about just how weary you are. "Next time".
That night, back inside the safety of the gates, back inside the closing walls of Jesse's parent's home, Jesse has his arms around you and you bury your nose in his neck. He smells good, like woods and like fire, and like many other boys you had your nose buried in their necks, and you do your best not to compare his smell to Ellie's softer scent. (You try to ignore the building feeling of uncomfortable annoyance).
"Six…" he mumbles into your hair. "Wow. How embarrassing is my number of infected compared to yours and Ellie's?"
"Not at all." You whisper and kiss his neck.
You tell yourself you love him (and you do) but there is no excitement and no blushes and no fast heartbeats. Your love for him flows slowly, steadily, like warm lava cooling down on the burned earth.
(Sometimes, when everything becomes too much, you confront him. He has his own insecurities and you're two colliding forces. He's a perfect gentleman so you do most of the screaming and all the pushing and then you run off to Ellie, crying hot angry tears of frustration and spite).
(Later you hug Jesse and he smooths your hair and apologises. Ou tighten your grip on him and wish for the stupid budding feeling in your heart, a pulse with Ellie's name in it, to go away).
(You think he knows everything, but he remains silent. You love him for everything that he is).
//
Kat is beautiful and you see the way Ellie is looking at her. her skin is pale and smooth and has no marks of violence and her eyes are dark and soft and full of challenge that has nothing to do with bravery. She has red smiling lips and long delicate fingers and you never had a problem with her before but when you see Ellie eyeing her, biting her lower lip and tripping on her words, blushing and giggling like a fool, you discover just how much you dislike her.
You don't tell Ellie how it makes you feel, seeing her reduced to a stupid smiling teenager in the presence of Kat. You don't say anything. Instead of talking, you find you are losing the nerve to talk to Ellie at all.
When you visit her, Kat is there, doodling on smooth papers at the desk, and Ellie has a dopey smile that makes you want to scream. She is distracted and clumsier than usual and you are angry enough to pull at her hair because she's not smiling at you and she has eyes only for Kat and you're so jealous when you have no business being jealous (eventually you minimize your visits and stick to Jesse).
(You don't notice Ellie's stares. You don't notice the way she isolates herself whenever you're hanging out, even when Kat is not around. You don't notice her longing looks and sad sighs and angry outbursts and jealous jealous jealous words when she asks you about Jesse).
(You don't notice any of it, you're too preoccupied with your own misplaced jealousy and the way Ellie's green eyes make you feel).
When Ellie thrusts her right arm under your nose, on a particularly hot evening in the middle of the summer, you are tempted to push her away. Instead, you raise your eyes lazily from the book you're reading and cock one eyebrow at her.
"Can I help you?"
"Just look, you fool".
You lower your eyes and you're about to say something, some bitter comment that you can probably present as sarcasm when you notice a fresh inky design on her red inflamed skin.
"What the hell?" you sit, your book forgotten, and grasp her arm.
"Ouch!" she snatches her arm back. "Careful! It's fresh!"
"What the fuck is that?"
Ellie looks a little hurt. "Erm…" she scratches her nose. "A tattoo?"
"I dunno," you snap at her. "Are you asking me or are you telling me?"
"No, I'm telling you. It's a new ta- WHAT?"
You shake your head. "Where the hell did you get that?"
"You don't like it?" she asks, and her voice is small and hurt and sad. You take a deep breath and try to compose yourself because you hate how insecure and insulted she is at your cold reaction.
"No… hold on. Let me see it".
When you inspect the fresh tattoo closer, you think it has a nice flow to it. Ellie's moth is beautiful and the lines are thick and artistic and you can tell it isn't finished, but it looks nice on her arm.
"It's really nice".
"Seriously?"
"Yeah".
Ellie grins, teeth bared and eyes squinted. She looks very pleased with herself.
"Kat built a tattoo machine, and I was thinking – " she's talking and you tune her out. All you can hear is Kat and Kat and Kat. She made a tattoo machine and Ellie, love-struck and stupid, no doubt offered herself as a practice canvas.
"I think it's irresponsible. Have you shown it to Joel?"
You can tell just how hurt she is by your lack of enthusiasm. "Not yet. I wanted to show you first".
"Don't worry. It's cute".
(You make a point out of dancing and singing and laughing, whenever you're surrounded by a large group of friends and Ellie is nearby. You dance close and touch easy and lean into people's arms. You've never been shy about physical touch, but with Ellie's eyes on you, you make it into a habit).
(You don't pretend the people you hug are Ellie and you don't pretend it means anything at all, but you take satisfaction from the way something breaks deep in the green green green eyes and you hate yourself for it).
(Jesse is not jealous. He's good and gentle and he gives you space. He is smiling, encouraging, and manly. He nods and makes sure people are respectful towards you).
(Ellie turns her back when she sees you spinning in someone's arms, a little drunk and a little out of breath and a little damp around the temples. She has her sleeves rolled, her new tattoo on display, and she lets Kat kiss her, deep wet and dirty, her back pressed to the wooden bar and cheers booming around her).
(You don't talk to her for two days, not really knowing why. When you meet, both of you pretend nothing is wrong).
(You feel like everything is wrong).
//
Jackson's streets are shining with rain. They are muddy and dangerous and fun, even though you're not a child anymore. Kids are running around, throwing dirt at each other, laughing loudly and people gabbling in the market, happy and easy and safe. fish sliding in nets and on spread out tables, fresh and twitching. The stench of raw meat is in the air and the heavy odour of freshly baked goods. There is some sort of a happy festive air to it all and Jackson is celebrating something you don't pay attention to.
(You haven't spoke with Ellie for a couple of days, now. She's been spending all her time with Kat again, finishing her tattoo and kissing, and you're too jealous and too angry and too much of a fool to hang with them. So, you haven't spoken with Ellie for couple of day and it makes you agitated and sullen. Almost grim).
You're unhappy. You've been unhappy for quite some time and nothing Jesse is saying working any longer. He is hanging to you by a thread but you know him too well not to notice that he, too, has been struggling.
(You broke up and got back together, hoping for a change. Then you broke up again, but the loneliness drove the two of you back to safety. Only safety is not enough and even the sex became too dull to keep you going).
You feel stupid and hurt and cold. You're angry and lonely and your best friend is busy and your boyfriend is not someone you want to talk to about how you feel and you wish you could have Talia's arms around you (even for just a moment. Even for just one last time).
You want to go back to being small and warm. You want to be back in New Mexico and you want to hear your mother's voice telling you everything will be alright.
You want them back (oh, how you want them back) and you know there is no point in wanting but you want anyway. Just the way it was, when you were small and scared and let Talia drag you around, avoiding ghosts who eventually caught up to her.
"Hey." Someone touches your shoulder from behind and you jump, sad and irritated and with tears in your eyes.
"Woah!" Ellie steps back, hands in the air like in surrender. She has a smile plastered on her stupid pretty face and a bandage around her freshly finished tattoo. Her freckles shine on her light-skinned face and there is a new bruise on her cheek, from yesterday's patrol.
Her eyes are deep and beautiful and wide in bruised sockets and her nose is burned a little.
"Oh," you say and try to keep your voice shallow and friendly. "Sorry. You scared me".
"I get that a lot".
She's wearing a huge hoodie that clearly belongs to Joel, old jeans, and her dirty canvas sneakers. She looks soft and pretty and you are tempted to hug her.
(You don't. instead, you plant your feet in the muddy ground and attempt a pitiful smile).
"Uh-ha".
Ellie has her eyebrows knit together and she's looking at you with sad sad eyes. "Hey," she says and her smile slips from her face. "Do you wanna go have a drink with me, later today?"
You glance behind her, and it's petty and angry and you try not to think how bitter your voice sounds when you ask, "With you and Kat?"
"No," she says, a little hurt and confused by the unspoken accusation. "Just with me".
"Where is she?"
Ellie furrows her brows even more. "I dunno," she says and shrugs. It looks like a nervous tick. "Probably working at the shop. Why? You miss her?"
You bark out an unamused, "ha!" that you don't put too much meaning behind and Ellie grabs you by the arm and drags you after her. you have no idea where you're going and you don't ask.
People are waving at you from both sides of the muddy road, saying 'hello' and "hi" and "how ya doin', Dina?" sending you smiles and winks and good-hearted nods. You wave and greet back and Ellie is smiling wide and free and young and your heart beats fast fast faster in your chest.
"Look at you," she teases. "You're so popular".
"Maybe they're just trying to get your attention," you mock, a little something like you used to. "I hear you had some pretty awesome patrols lately".
Ellie's shoulders sink and her smile vanishes and you stop dead on your tracks. Ellie is still holding your hand and she jerks back violently, unsuspecting, almost losing her footing.
"What?" you demand.
"What?" she parrots back at you.
"I dunno. You tell me".
"oh, c'mon! Don't give me that look. You were the one who swapped her patrol partner for that Eugine guy." She makes it sound like a joke but you're not laughing because there is an undertone of hurt in her words and it stabs you right between the ribs.
You are frozen in the middle of the street and you just stare at her.
"Dina?"
"I didn't swap you." You say softly.
"I know you did. It's fine, not a big deal".
Tears well in your eyes, stab at the back of your nose and you don't want to cry but you feel like you won't be able to stop your tears for much longer. Ellie is just standing there, innocent and pretty and freckled, hair's a mess, as usual, a strand of red-brown falling into her eyes (eyes that are rimmed red and a little bruised from lack of sleep or practice or both).
"I have to go." You tell her and your voice breaks.
"Dina, I was joking." She says and it's small and sad and a little lost and you hate yourself for doing it but you peck her on the cheek, cold and distant and nothing like your usual friendly kisses, and you leave her standing there, in the middle of a shining wet street – a small figure in an oversized shirt and old sneakers.
//
It's hot and noisy in the pub. Too noisy for your liking. Your head is splitting with pain and too much alcohol and your mouth is dry. The smoke and the smells make your eyes water and prick with unspilled tears.
It's late and the party is in full range and you're panting and sweating and blinking the tears away from your eyes. It's a birthday or an anniversary or a small victory on one of the recent swaps in the nearby towns (you don't remember what the occasion, but it's a happy one and there are free drinks and good music and you really don't care).
The people's voices rise around you (a murmur, a chant). They are soft and low and mumbling, then they are louder, one great monotonous background noise, blending with the deafening music and the rain outside.
(It's too loud and you pretend it isn't, for nobody's sake. After days and days and days of relative silence, the room is booming with noisy laughter and noisy shouts and noisy music and noisy life and you love these kinds of gatherings, when everybody is smiling and drunk, but Ellie is nowhere to be seen and you feel alone).
The room smells with people. The air is closed and you wish someone would have thought of opening a window (the windows remain closed because of the storm outside). The room smells like flesh and like food and like sweat. (It smells of organic iron and a tinge of alcohol that isn't unpleasant). It smells like animals and like a packed lot and under all this there is a smell of old wood and fire and wet earth.
People are talking, loud (so loud). You are talking (shouting over the music, your throat's sore). People are dancing and you are being tossed from arm to arm, through the dancefloor, by muscular bodies and sweet-whiskey breaths and scruffy faces. Some guy (ginger beards and blue eyes) has his hands on your waist, respectful though very close, and your breath is coming labored and heavy and you can't stop smiling.
"One more dance and I'll buy you a drink".
"The drinks are free, tonight".
"Well, god help me tonight, then".
(You laugh and he laughs and you dance).
"Lord almighty, isn't it little Dina?" Tommy is stumbling to the dance floor, smiling and obviously very drunk. Maria is standing by the bar, hands crossed and eyes rolling to the ceiling (she doesn't try to stop him though).
"You think you've been drinking enough for this?"
"Reckon I drank enough to forget how old you are".
You smile at him and catch his arm. He swings you and you both are stumbling. People are making room for you in the middle and you do a quick silly routine you and Tommy have been doing for the last couple of years.
(There are applause and Maria's throaty laugh and you help Tommy back to the safety of his bar-stool).
"You almost didn't make a fool out o' yourselves out there." Says Joel with a wink and you pat Tommy on the shoulder and huff a tired laugh.
"Well, he's a good dancer".
"You must be very drunk." Says Maria, not unkindly and Joel hands you a small shot-glass that you empty with a toss of your head.
You leave them and go back to the floor. When you're sweaty again, and out of breath, you let someone hand you a glass and you drink something that tastes like vodka but leaves a fruity taste on your tongue. You dance again, now with a blond boy with a small scar on his chin. You kiss Jesse on the the mouth, in the corner, away from people's prying eyes, and for a moment you are happy.
Then Ellie is there, leaning against the wooden bar, nervous smile on her lips, eyes gleaming, nose twitching. By the tilt of her head and the slump of her shoulders, you know she's at ease. By the crooked smile and the blush in her cheeks you can tell she's been drinking and (Kat is nowhere to be seen).
"Hi." You say and lean into her, the world is swiming around you, and Ellie (her eyes and her clothes and her smiles and her smell) is filling your senses.
"Hi," she says. "You're so drunk." And she's laughing.
You think about it for a moment, then nod. "So are you".
"Just a little".
You look around, searching for grim expressions in a hard wrinkled face. "Where did Joel go? He's been here like a minute ago".
"I think I saw him and Jesse dragging Tommy back home".
You laugh at that picture. "Too bad. He still owes me a dance".
"I saw that," Ellie's eyebrows go down. her lips curl in a smile you don't understand (a little nervous and a little uncertain). "What the hell was that about?"
"Just a little something we've been doing since I got here. If you," (and you poke her upper arm with a finger) "would bother to actually show to these things, you would have known".
She shrugs. "I'll think about it".
(And you missed this. You can't help it, and you lean close to her, so close you're practically flushed together).
There is a familiar flutter in your stomach. A familiar heat in your face. A familiar rise in your heartbeat.
(What the hell?)
You look at Ellie, drunk and swaying, and you wonder what is happening. She's very pretty, with her pale green eyes and freckled-face and messy locks and easy posture. You can't deny her almost boyish beauty. And her easy confidence and stumbling innocence. And she knows how to make you laugh, without a shred of pretense (those stupid jokes that aren't meant to be funny). The little twitch in her mouth when she is thinking about saying something she's not sure how will come across. Her way of understanding and surprising you. The way your gray dull sad world is exploding with light and colour whenever she shows up and
(Suddenly you feel week at the knees. You slump back against the bar and Ellie is still looking at you, smiling and unsuspecting. You let your gaze fall to the floor and)
(Fuck).
(Fuck).
(Fuck).
(You're in love with Ellie Williams).
//
Ellie's place is dark and a chilly, too cold after the too-hot room you've been in and almost too dark to see. the silence is ringing in your ears here, slipping inside and jabbing. Here, it's a noiseless world.
(You can still feel the buzz of laughter, of voices, on your skin, as if it was rubbed into you. It still hangs at the back of your mind like screaming ghosts, present but out of reach).
Ellie is grinning like a fool. She's a dark figure in this dark room. A girl made of darkness. You smell the alcohol on her. the smoke.
You realise just how isolated her place is and your heart quickens.
(Suddenly, you want to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but with her).
(You think you know how you want it to go. You want her to take off your clothes, gently and softly, and very much like her. you think you want her to undo your ponytail and run her fingers through your hair. You think you know how you want her to kiss you and you can hardly breathe, hardly stand. You think you know how you want her mouth on you, her hands, and you think you know how she will move, how she will love, how she will sigh and moan and grunt and whisper).
(You're so drunk the room is spinning).
But this is not how it goes.
Ellie isn't smiling anymore. She's staring, wide eyes and a slightly open mouth, the music, and the human noise is faded in your ears.
She steps closer, hesitant, and young and too drunk. Her steps are quiet but you hear them on the floor. The front door closes with a click, cutting the yellow light.
You freeze. (It was a mistake, coming here. It is a mistake, staying here. Neither of you think straight and you're so drunk you taste the alcohol at the back of your throat).
Ellie steps closer, behind you.
"What are you doing?" you aim at easy but it comes out breathy and shaky and wanting.
"I don't know," she admits. "Do you want me to stop?"
"I think you better stop." And you're sad. You feel sad saying that. She moves forward, puts her arms around you, strokes you stomach with hot hot hot hands. You lean back, against her, and let her hold you for a moment.
Both of you are drunk. Too drunk. You know you should do something. Stop her, whatever she is doing. You know you should make light of the situation. You know you should say something, undermine it all.
(You just stand there and let her hold you).
You turn, slowly. Painfully slowly. It's reckless and stupid and a chance you are not quite willing to take, but you're drunk and it seems like a good (safe) idea. Ellie pulls you against her. She lowers her head – a question. You nod and then her mouth is on yours and you're kissing.
Both of you shaking now, her thin body is warm and soft and everything you dreamed about, against yours. You feel the shape of her body, the texture of her skin. Her mouth is firm and soft and warm and it feels like shouting. (It feels like shooting someone). Your hand goes up, her hand goes down and it's too much it's too much it's too much.
You stumble a step or two away. You are breathless and Ellie steps to you. She puts her arms around you and whispers something you can't quite catch right into your ear.
You want to reach up and touch her. you want to feel her skin. You want to move your fingers and feel her under your body. It feels so good, to be touched by someone. No., not someone. To be touched by her.
(You feel stupid).
(You feel reckless).
(You feel greedy).
Ellie is saying something, just audible. She says something about you and something about Jesse and something about the whiskey you were drinking, but you're not listening.
You stand, in the darkness, and feel empty. You are shocked (by her warmth and her lips and you're daring nature). You're drunk and everything is spinning and tilting around you, but you're not drunk enough to fuck your friendship with her over something so stupid.
She tries to put her arms around you but you dodge her attempts. She lets her hands drop and her eyes are sad and betrayed and so damn scared.
"Dina…" she starts saying and you know her all too well. You know she is about to make some dumbass apology, as if you didn't want it all to happen and as if it was her idea.
"Dina, I'm – " and you're nothing if not a coward (Ellie is strong and beautiful and sad), so you put all your inner strength into pursing your lips and taking a deep breath and stepping away.
"Ellie," you say her name like a warning, shaking your head. "Don't".
"No, wait – "
You keep shaking your head when you find the door and when you turn the nob and when your fingers freeze in the cold air and when you step outside. It's all you can do when you walk home, shake your head, and hold back tears and hope whatever happened tonight will not ruin the fragile fragments of your long friendship with Ellie.
//
You stand in the relative darkness of your place and start to pull off your clothes.
Something inside you is making a breaking sound, like cracking. Noise is coming up your tight chest, into your sore throat, and all of a sudden, your face is wet and your body is shaking.
It happens without warning.
You're thinking about Ellie, about how vulnerable and small she looked after you pushed her gently away. You think of how you wanted to hug her and how you wanted to let her kiss you forever and how you fled.
It's too loud and too much and it hurts it hurts it hurts, horrifying and selfish and not selfish enough.
You feel the hysteria creeping into your chest and you know it may be fatal, so you cram both hands over your mouth and try to keep it all in.
You drop to your knees, half-naked and very drunk, your arms hurting from the need to have them wrapped tightly around Ellie.
Your tears are boiling lava inside of you. They choke your throat and pain your nose and jab at your eyes.
You hold back, shaking on your knees, not sure why the hell you bother to hold back anymore.
You clench your eyes shut and wish against every rational thought to have your mother by your side, to have Talia next to you, to be anywhere but in Jackson.
Why did you run?
You sit on your knees, on the floor, in the middle of your small place, and you shake hard and violent, your breathing coming out rapid and exhausting.
The only sound here is the sound of your own heart, the sound of opening and closing lings.
The sound of your tears.