You Mustn't Give Your Heart To A Wild Thing

I'd found that vodka had always tickled lightly at my throat, whilst whisky scorched, without an ounce of compassion.

I'd found that girls could grab my attention with a longing look, whilst Verity had me by the scruff of the neck, without so much as a glance.

It was vodka in my glass, but I would always prefer whisky. It was a blonde gazelle 'model type' in my bunk, but I would always prefer my tiny, awkward brunette.

Something easy couldn't hold my attention like that of something near impossible and I knew; and counted on the fact, that the most blissful of pleasures were a chaser to the very worst of pain.

The air was already sickeningly humid as I stumbled from the bus and I grimaced as it caught in my throat, dispelling all traces of moisture from my mouth. My toes curled as my bare feet touched the warm concrete of the parking lot and I found myself guestimating the amount of steps between the gas station and myself. I hadn't expected such heat when I'd risen from my bunk and really, a few minutes prior, I'd not dreamt of stepping outside at all.

I'd seen nothing, bar the venue, of the first five cities we'd visited.; I could no more tell you what Salt Lake City looked like than I could the dark side of the moon.

"Ye could at least put some tomato juice in there, pretend 's somethin' ye should be drinkin' at breakfast"

I drug my eyes up from my feet and slowly focused on the face of my younger brother. "A'right Mum"

His sigh was loud enough to be heard over the din of trucks pulling into the rest-stop and his face held the same expression it had done since arriving in America.

"Ye lucky 'm not Mum" he quipped, pushing his sunglasses atop his head and peering up at me. His baby blues scanning my face, searching for something; I was a little smug to say, that he would not find today. "ye a mess Ol. She'd 'av a fuckin'..."

"'s good she ain't 'ere then, aye Tommy"

"D'ye even know where we are?"

The quick glance around the lot wasn't necessary, I had no idea and Thomas knew this. His smirk told me he knew this. The differences between one gas station and the next were few, and I wasn't the most observant of people at the best of times. "'s it matter?"

He shrugged his shoulders and retrieved a pack of smokes from his back pocket, offering me one; an offer that was swiftly declined, before placing his own in the corner of his mouth. "Not as much as ye knowing where we' goin'"

Thomas Jordan Sykes always knew more than he would let on. He knew more than he should and he knew all manner of things that he shouldn't.

I'd learnt this on Christmas Eve ninteen ninety six when he let slip that he'd overheard our parents discussing the Tamagotchi they'd managed to track down for him. He kept the fact that I too had one, to himself; claiming afterward that he didn't want to ruin the surprise, but I knew better. Tom liked his secrets.

This, was why I knew; in my heart of hearts, that he had known about Verity's pregnancy, that he had known she was leaving for Los Angeles come autumn two thousand and five and that he now knew exactly where she was. And this, was why I knew I would do good to not question his tone of voice and the way in which his eyes were fixed unflinchingly on mine.

He grimaced as I ruffled his hair; knocking his aviators back onto the bridge of his nose, and I heard the 'dick' mumbled under his breath as I sidestepped him and carried on toward the gas station.

The cold tiled floor was a welcome relief to my feet and the surge of air conditioning that hit me as I shoved the door open, sent goose bumps across every centimetre of my skin. A small smile creased across my lips at the ring of a bronze bell suspended above my head and I gave a lopsided grin to the cashier as he glanced up from the 'Enquirer' he was reading.

The gas station was smaller than I had expected, with a tiny retro looking diner squashed into the far corner. I could tell; without so much as a glance at the menu, that they would serve banoffe pie and thick milkshakes. That their mash potato would come in a mountain; similar in size to Everest and their 'homemade chilli' would be made from a recipe older than me.

The smell of strong coffee and maple syrup; the mere thought of the food, was enough to make my stomach ache uncomfortably and the room got a whole lot smaller the instant I drug my eyes from the vinyl booths and broken jukebox, and noticed the pair of brown eyes watching me over the shelves ahead.

We hadn't spoken a word since the departure lounge and we'd only been within a few feet of eachother on stage. The eyes belonged to both my best and worst friend.
The eyes belonged to Curtis Ward.

"Y'aright Oliver?"

I shook his voice from my ears and edged my way down the aisle; my glass gripped tightly in my left hand, whilst my right struggled to keep itself from curling into a fist. I had felt the colour drain from my cheeks and I suddenly felt the hit of the vodka I'd been sipping all morning. Each step grew clumsier, but each step also took me further from Curtis. Or so I thought. "Ye've gotta talk t'me at somepoint Ol"

He was stood just a step or two in front of me, his body squared to mine, his chest puffed forward and his shoulders uncommonly broad. The bruise that had marked his eye had all but vanished, and his lips had returned to their normal size and were currently curling into an uncertain smile.

"ow'd ye figure that one out?"

"Who else is gonna tell ye when ye bein' a prick?" His laugh was awkward and only became more so as my eyebrows raised high on my forehead and my lips were sucked back against my teeth. "Fuck. Wasn' a good thing t'say were it?"

"Ye think?"

"I jus'...I mean, no one else ever calls ye out on ye shit. Ye need that Ol. Ye a mess an' theres no need for ye to be. Ye need someone to..."His words trailed as I began rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. "Ye bein' a prick Oliver"

My glass slipped from between my fingers and shattered into a million little pieces on the floor. I noticed the blood before I felt any pain and was quite happily watching it pool around my bare feet with the vodka as the cashier ran to my side.

"What the hell have you done?" He squeaked, taking one look at my foot before looking away quickly. His open palm rested against his chest and what seemed to be vomit rising rapidly in his throat. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. I cannot stomach blood, I..."

The noise that slipped past his lips as he turned to look again was one I couldn't describe and I wasn't in the least bit suprised when he turned quickly on his heel and sped towards what I imagined to be the bathroom.

"Does it 'urt Ol?" Curtis was crouched at my side, peering closely at the fresh gash of about an inch or two, just below my little toe. I could see the offending shard of glass still sticking out of it, shining in the fluorescent strip lighting that hung overhead, but still, no pain. "Why 'avent ye got fuckin' shoes on?"

He had a point but I'd be damned if I admited so. "I couldn' find my left on an' I...what the fuck d'ye think ye doin?' I screeched as his fingertips hovered over the wound, ready to pounce like a lion on a gazelle. "Ye not supposed t' take the glass out, 's blockin' the blood..'s..."

"'ow much blood d'ye think ye've got in ye toe Ol?" He chuckled, pinching his fingers together and retrieveing the small slither of glass. " 's not ye arteries or 'owt Oliver, ye not gonna.."

And there it was, "Ow, fuck. Would ye quit playin' wi' my foot Curt?"

"Would ye quit whinging like a baby"

"Ye gonna tell me 'm a prick again, afterall 's what got us into this..." I kicked his hand away from my foot and he rose back to his feet.

"Ye shouldn' 'av brought ye drink in with ye" He retorted, straightening back up and folding his arms across his chest. "Ye should be wearing shoes Ol"

"An' that makes me a prick?"

"A lot of things make ye a prick Oliver"

"An' a fuck load make you one too, Curtis"

Two mouths opened and closed in quick succession, and two lame comebacks remained on the tips of two tongues. Two friends thought better of what was happening and two invisible white flags were waved.

And there it was.

"D'ye know where were going?"

"Like, from 'ere, as friends?" Curtis smirked with a soft chuckle, "Or actually goin', in the bus?"

He read my raised eyebrow as intended and gave me a small, understanding, nod.
"Baltimore. Maryland"