Trapped Between

As I rounded the final corner I realised that the massive tsunami I’d been waiting for hadn’t come. In fact the tide inside was moving in and out at a regular pace again, matching the calm beat of my heart. Accepting what was to come had somehow soothed me and the tight wad of nerves in my throat disintegrated and blew away, like the seeds on a dandelion clock.

I had spent the last couple of days in complete and utter turmoil, the news about David Pearson had started the angst but the bizarre meeting of the grey boy on Saturday had rocked me to the core. However since I had seen him last I had managed to convince myself that he was just some new guy who needed a friend. But when I saw him sat waiting for me in exactly the same spot as last time I felt my face split into a smile so wide that it made my cheeks ache. How could just some guy make me feel that things were somehow all in upheaval but slotting into place at the same time?

I strode towards him and the steady thump thump thump of my heart started to accelerate in my chest, beating out a tattoo of excited expectancy. The anticipation seemed to grind at the stones and they felt like they had turned to pumice, still uncomfortable, still there, but somehow lighter. I gestured to my bag as I took the last few steps to the bench closest to him.

“I promise I haven’t brought Dante back with me.” My voice chirped out clear and steady in the early evening, like the confident call of a bird that belonged here in the park. A bird that had been out of control for days, twisting and turning on the thermals, and had been waiting for this perfect moment to come down to land.

“I’m glad”, he said and his voice was like music. His tense face broke into yet another bewildered grin and he laughed.

No sooner than his laugh had rung out into the air between us, his face turned serious again, all shadows and angles, though he lifted an eyebrow in a wry fashion. “However, I think it may have been able to shed some light on the situation.”

“What situation?” I asked.

“Do you know this has always been my favourite place to sit and think? His voice turned wistful. “I’ve been coming here for a long time.” He appeared lost in thought and I settled down onto the wet bench, trying in vain to keep up with his shifting moods.

“It’s a good place to sit, I guess. What did you mean; Dante could shed some light on the situation?” I asked again, amazed at how confident my voice sounded, considering my heart was beating like the clappers.

His heartbreakingly beautiful face was sombre as he gazed into my eyes. Just like last time I was pinned to the spot, like a rabbit in headlights, unable to look away from his intense scrutiny. His face looked so grave and dark that the feeling of anticipation faded and apprehension edged its way in, settling itself down amongst the pumice. Then, just as sudden as his expression had darkened, his face relaxed and a smile lifted his lips again, his grey eyes twinkled at me.

“It’s nothing.” He shook his head, as if he was trying to rid himself of whatever it was that had made him turn all serious. He hitched his lips higher and in response I found myself grinning up at him like a fool.

“You know,” I started, and then looked down at my hands. I twisted my fingers together as I felt a flush creep up my cheeks. “Considering I’ve told you a lot of stuff about myself, you’ve not even told me your name.” I kept my head dipped; embarrassed by the memory that I had divulged my life story to him and not even asked him for one tiny detail about himself.

Silence.

I peeked up at him. The smile had dropped away from his face altogether and his eyebrows were pulled down, mashed together as if he was thinking really hard, as if he was having difficulty remembering something as simple as his name. He stared off into the park, face still tense, as if he could find the answer out there in the darkness. Just as the silence was beginning to feel uncomfortable, beginning to make me feel like his name was the worst thing I could have possibly asked for, he answered.

“It’s Drew.”

“Thank you.” I whispered, releasing a breath that I hadn’t realised I had been holding. I felt weirdly grateful, as if he had just let me in on the biggest secret ever. How bizarre that asking something as simple as his name had caused such tension. My shaky response seemed to shake him out of his strange pensive mood, his face relaxed and he turned to me, a smile back on his perfect lips, though I noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time.

“So, Beth,” he dipped his chin acknowledging that he was allowed to call me by my nickname. “How was school today?”

I narrowed my eyes at him and pursed my lips, it seemed like he had purposefully brought the conversation back round to me being the one revealing all the details. Well, I wasn’t done with trying to get him talking yet; I had to get something out of this gorgeous but reticent boy before I gave him anything else.

“Don’t you go to school somewhere?” I blurted out, trying a new direction of questioning, a new way at breaking down his defences. He shook his head but didn’t offer any verbal response to my question. I tried again. “Have you finished your studies?”

“Yes, a while ago.” For some reason his answer made him laugh, but it wasn’t a happy sound, it was a quick, harsh bark.

I didn’t get it.

I was confused, so I waited patiently for him to explain it to me.

He didn’t.

“So, school?” he asked again and his eyes scorched into mine. I couldn’t stop myself opening my mouth, licking my lips as I prepared to answer his question. A small voice in my head reminded me that he had managed to escape revealing anything about himself again but it didn’t stop me. It was just like yesterday when I had poured out such random personal information; I was unable to control myself around him.

“School was good. We’ve started a new project in Art which I’m looking forward to getting started on.”

“You like art?” He lifted an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side, like my answer was vitally important and he didn’t want to miss any of the details.

“Erm…yes.” Why did he make me feel like I was telling him such deep dark mysteries? I looked down at my hands again, feeling flustered, like I was well and truly under the microscope. “Do you?”

Another beat of silence.

He didn’t answer.

“What are you listening to?” I looked back up at his glorious face, feeling confused by his sudden change in direction. He gestured to my headphones that were sat around my neck.

“Erm…Oasis?” It was a simple enough answer but it came out of my mouth like a question. Like it was somehow important that he approved, that he certified that Oasis were a good enough band to listen to.

He raised both eyebrows, seeming surprised by my music tastes. “They’re good,” he nodded, “one of my favourites.”

Finally, I knew something about him.

He asked me a lot about music after that, and it was the one topic that seemed safe enough for him to join in with. It turned out that we liked a lot of the bands. It surprised him that I was into the early stuff from Travis, Coldplay, and the Stereophonics considering I had been a little kid when those albums came out, but he nodded in agreement with my reasons for liking them. When I asked him if he liked any current bands his face fell, a shadow of anger marred his face for a moment and then was replaced by a blank impassiveness. He shrugged his shoulders. I sucked in a nervous breath and found myself staring down at my hands. Again.

I didn’t push him after that, he was obviously uncomfortable opening up about himself and I didn’t want him to just up and leave. I was still amazed, flabbergasted that this beautiful boy wanted to talk to me, wanted to know such minor details about my life, and that he hung on my every word as if I was telling him age old secrets that had never before been revealed.

After I had answered his questions about my favourite films and books he asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. The rain was still falling and I could feel it seeping through my clothes, my jeans stuck to my legs and my coat was starting to fail miserably at being waterproof. He gestured towards the direction of the market, eyebrows raised waiting for my response and without a seconds hesitation I was on my feet, nodding at him like an idiot. I would have gone anywhere he asked me to, the market, Mongolia, the moon.

We strolled through park in silence and I felt my body humming with energy. I was wet through, a bedraggled frizzy mess, but I didn’t care, it was like the energy that I felt inside was enough to make me feel warm and dry. The park looked enchanting, all shiny and green. It was like his beauty had reached out and touched everything around us, the leaves glistened as if they were strewn with diamonds, the grass was like a lush carpet and the flowers had never shone so bright. It was as if nature had sat up, took one look at him and realised it better pull its finger out if it wanted to compete with him.

It couldn’t.

As we strolled into the market he had to take a step closer to me so we could walk down the narrow channel that ran between the stalls. I was unable to think about anything other than how close he was to me, how close his hand hung next to mine. I felt my hand twitch involuntary, reaching out to close the gap between us, I quickly shoved it in my pocket. Why couldn’t I control myself when I was near him?

As we neared the final empty stall he strode forward and jumped up to sit on it, his body moved elegantly as he spun round to face me. I knew I was staring but I couldn’t help myself, he was so beautiful, so graceful.

“Come on, Beth” He patted to the space next to him and I scrambled up, not nearly as gracefully as he had, to sit alongside him. He smiled warmly at me and then turned to look out across the market, not really focussing on anything, the smile still playing on his face.

We sat in silence, just looking out through the drizzle at the empty market place. I couldn’t stop myself peeking up at him every now and then, and every time I did I felt my breath leave my body.

I studied his profile; his straight nose, his full lips, his dishevelled fringe falling over his forehead in a heavy, damp curtain. The rain dripped from his hair and ran down his neck into the darkness under his jacket collar, it left glistening trails on his pale skin that I had the urge to lean over and lick. His soaking tee shirt stuck to the plains of his chest and stomach, clinging to the hard muscles that showed beneath the thin, soggy fabric.

There wasn’t one thing about him that could be improved upon. Even though the sky was black and he was all in grey, and I was only peeking at him from the corner of my eye, I felt like I was staring directly into the sun. Looking at him burned my eyes but I knew that I couldn’t turn away; I would never be satisfied looking at anything else again. He was a vision in grey that somehow seemed to shine with every colour of the spectrum.

After a couple more minutes of secret ogling, a sound to my left caught my attention and I dragged my eyes away from Drew’s perfect face to see what it was. Mr. Weston, from the newsagents, had dropped his keys in a puddle and was feeling around in the muddy water trying to locate them. He found them, stood up, and wiped his fingers down his jacket. He jumped when he saw us sat on the market stall; I guess he hadn’t seen us at first through the insistent drizzle.

“Is that you Beth?” He pushed his wet hood back a little on his head, trying to get a better look, as he walked towards us.

“Yes, it’s me, Mr. Weston.”

“What are doing sat out in this weather?”

“Not much, just chatting.” I beamed at him, and then smiled up at Drew who was gazing off into the distance.

Mr. Weston looked at me as if I had gone completely insane.

“Well if I were you I wouldn’t be planning on staying out much longer in this, it’s supposed to really start coming down later.” His voice was kind and he looked up at the darkening clouds, and as if to prove his point, tugged his hood back down around his face.

“Okay, thanks.”

“Okay then, Beth.” Mr. Weston stuffed his dripping keys in his pocket and set off up the channel we had just walked down. When he got to the end he looked back at me, over his shoulder, with a totally baffled expression on his face before heading off into the mist with long, determined strides.

“That was weird.”

There was no answer from next to me. I turned to Drew and he was staring at the point where Mr. Weston had disappeared. His face looked all dark and angular again, his mouth set in a hard line and his eyes looked expressionless. What was wrong with him?

“He was right,” Drew’s voice was quiet, soft, as he slipped off the stall. “You shouldn’t be out in this.” He looked up at the black clouds like Mr. Weston had just done but, unlike the newsagent, his tone didn’t suggest kindness. His voice was bleak and it seemed to suggest something else, that something darker than just the storm clouds were rolling our way. Without even a glance towards me he set off with long, purposeful strides back the way we had come.

I was about to call out to him, tell him it was only a bit of rain and that I wanted to stay with him, but something in the way he held his shoulders made me bite back my plea. Plus Mr. Weston had been right, the dark clouds were beginning to be tinged with a rich purple that threatened thunder and I didn’t have the guts to be out alone in a storm.

I squinted into the rain, trying to catch a last glimpse of Drew, but he was gone. I pushed my sopping hair away from my face, feeling the cold seep down to my bone for the first time that night, and made a quick dash home.

I watched the rainstorm raging outside my bedroom window as I absentmindedly dried my soaking hair with a towel. The storm mirrored how I was feeling inside, a blustering and churning of emotions that dashed from one side of my head to the other.

What had gone wrong?

I had thought that Drew had begun to thaw somehow, he had opened up about his music tastes and then, all of a sudden, he had turned withdrawn again and disappeared without even so much as a glance back in my direction.

I put down the towel and rubbed my sore eyes, it was as if staring at Drew had really damaged my eyes and now that he had gone, I was struggling to focus properly in the lonely darkness that he had left behind.

I asked myself, for what seemed to be the millionth time, what had happened to make Drew up and leave like that? There was something off about the whole end of our time together, something that didn’t quite seem to make sense. But I couldn’t get a grasp on it, couldn’t get a hold on whatever it was that had gone wrong.

One thing I did know is that he hadn’t asked me to meet him again, and that made me feel sick to my core.

It wasn’t until much later on, when sleep was finally beginning to creep over me and I was thinking for the umpteenth time about Drew’s abrupt departure, that I realised Mr. Weston hadn’t once spoken to Drew.

In fact, he hadn’t looked at him at all.