Chasing Chaos

2009

Going to the Drop Dead office after work was not a conscious decision at all. Upon stepping out of the Turn, I just happened to go in the opposite direction of my parent’s house. I didn’t even stop to hesitate; I just went directly to him.

That’s what I wanted so desperately. To see him, to apologize to him. It was pathetic how consumed I’d been by the thought of him. From the time he’d been so venomous to me on the night I drove him home, all I wanted was to make things different between us. I just needed to find a way to be okay with him, get to a point where we didn’t have to be awkward and full of regret. There was something twisted about that. I shouldn’t have wanted to comfort him and make things right. But he took up so much space in my mind sometimes that it was unreal. It was like he’d been placed there permanently, with no chance of ever leaving. The terrible part of his presence in me was that I was okay with it. I accepted it. Maybe I even wanted him there.

When I arrived, the office was mostly empty. I knew he liked to be alone there. I tried to convince myself that it was normal of me to know this little fact. But I knew it wasn’t normal. And I knew it wasn’t normal that I knew what drinks he ordered at the bar and what his favorite movies were. I wasn’t even sure how I knew these things. They were an unconscious set of knowledge, things I knew instinctively. Like I knew him instinctively.

He was at a desk, looking rather somber. His head only turned up to look at me when he heard the annoying clink of my wooden bracelets sliding together. His expression did not change; it was lifeless and flat just then. Mechanically, he said “Tom’s o’ready gone home for the day.”

I rubbed my hands together nervously. “Oh, uh, I know… I came to talk to you.”

A mad glint crossed his eyes, some sort of confusion. “Really?”

“Aye.” I nodded carefully. “I want to apologize for—“

“Don’t,” he stopped me. “I’ve been outta line with yeh.”

“No, really, I… overreacted. Majorly. I were a complete bitch. I’m sorry about at the flat, when I yelled at yeh.”

“An’ I’m sorry I were a total wanker the other night for no reason. Yeh ‘ad every right to yell at me.” He stood up, pushing some papers around on the table and looking less lifeless.

“I didn’ though,” I admitted. “Yeh were jus’ doin’ what yeh thought I wanted…”

“Aye, but I were wrong… way wrong.”

“But yeh weren’t,” I said this before I could catch myself. I had not meant to say it.

He paused for a long time before saying “What?”

“I, uh… Yeh weren’t wrong to think I wanted yeh to kiss me.”

He looked as though I’d just slapped him and then repeated “What?”

“We both know it’s wrong o’ me to want that… but…”

“Sometimes it’s good to be wrong.” He lifted his brows suggestively, obnoxiously.

“I don’t think now is the time though.”

“Why not?”

“Because there never will be a right time for it.” For us, I thought but didn’t say.

“Never?” He asked.

“Never,” I confirmed.

He had shuffled closer to me but I couldn’t look at him directly as he said “Yeh honestly wanted it?” Curious. With great amusement.

“O’ course.”

“O’ course? Why o’ course?” He questioned.

“Because we o’ways want what we shouldn’t have? Because yeh’ve o’ways been untouchable?”

“Ef I recall correctly, yeh’ve done some touching.” He was forcing me to recall things I’d buried in my past. “An’ yeh were good at it… An’ yeh loved it.” He was painfully close to me then, in physical distance and emotional boundaries. “Bet yeh’d love it now too.”

I shivered as his fingers grazed my arm. “I know I would.” It came from my mouth involuntarily.

A smirk drew across his pretty mouth. He had the upper hand now because I was on fire. Except without my previous anger. Just fire. Why was I allowing this? When I knew just how wrong it was? Why couldn’t I move away from him or just lie and say it meant nothing? “Yeh wanted it before… what about now?”

“What about it?” I bit back at him.

“D’yeh want me to kiss yeh now?”

“I…” Hesitating was my biggest mistake.

“All yeh ‘ave to do is say yeh want me to kiss yeh.” His eyebrows were raised and he curled one of his fingers around a piece of my hair, twisting it gently.

“Why would I say that?”

“’Cause it’s true,” he offered.

“Is not.”

“It is… But I ain’t kissin’ yeh unless yeh say it.”

I groaned. “I do not want yeh kissin’ me.”

“Liar, yeh’ve just said yeh wanted me to kiss yeh before...”

“Right, I said I wanted to kiss yeh last week. That don’t mean—“

“Yeh can save it, Sav… I know yeh and I know—“

“Yeh know me? Yeh don’t know anything about me. What makes yeh think yeh’ve any idea about me? We’ve barely spoke in four fuckin’ years.”

He laughed. “Because yer transparent.”

“I came ‘ere to apologize not to be insulted.”

“I ain’t insulting yeh. I can jus’ see right through yeh. Like right now, yer doin’ that thing where yeh rub yer hands together; yer nervous. I make yeh nervous.”

“O’ course yeh make me nervous; yeh’ve o’ways made me nervous.” I admitted this freely. At this point, hiding my thoughts didn’t matter. And he seemed pleased by this and I scowled. “Yeh are positively revolting, Oliver Sykes.”

“But yeh still want to kiss me.”

“I shouldn’t ‘ave come.” I tried to flinch out of his hands but couldn’t.

This brought more happiness to his face. “Ha!” He exclaimed. “Yeh didn’t deny it.”

“What?”

“Yeh didn’t deny that yeh want to kiss me.” His hands were at my neck, spinning through my hair. “So now, just say it, say yeh want me to kiss yeh.”

“I hate yeh so much right now.” But in my mind I was realizing that he was still so captivating. So charming. He could talk me into anything.

“But yeh want me anyway.”

And without hesitation, I answered “But I want yeh anyway.”

This was all it took. A confirmation was all he needed before closing in on me. I didn’t even try to resist.

--

2005

I knew that my relationship with my mother had been rapidly deteriorating all summer. It had been taking a hit each time I left the house without her consent. We barely spoke when we were both home. I stayed hidden in my room because I knew one day she would lose her cool with me. I was prepared for that. I was prepared for a vicious verbal assault.

I was not prepared for any cool collected conversations and I did not anticipate that she would silently pounce on me while I was getting a snack very late one night.

I was humming to myself and spreading peanut butter over a piece of toast when she snuck up behind me.

“’Ello sweetie,” she said.

I jumped, startled. “Christ, Mum, yeh nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry,” she said. “Wha’re yeh makin’? Anything good?” She was being far too nice and it was eerie.

“Tea and toast.” I placed my toast on a plate and wiped crumbs from the counter. “D’yeh want tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” She nodded her head and took a seat at the kitchen table. Her mouth was pressed into a thin white line. This expression reminded me of one I would make. I looked like her, sort of. My hair was far redder than hers. My eyes were not the same almond shape of her eyes; mine were rounder, though they were the same shade of bluish-green. Our hands too were the same, small and boney with obsessively neat nails. She was taller by several inches but had roughly the same build. From the time I was very small, people had said how much I looked like her. And in this moment, I could see it. We were very much the same. But also, then I realized how unlike her I’d become. I was far less serious and no longer careful with my words.

I gathered cups and sugar, placing them on the table along with my toast. She shuffled the things around, compulsively shifting them into their rightful place. Politely, I asked “D’yeh want toast too.”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

I awkwardly took a seat across from her and poured her tea.

It struck me then that we drank our tea the same, from the number of sugars to the direction we stirred. It was strange but I said nothing of it to her. I just began eating my peanut butter toast silently, waiting for her to speak. For I knew she would.

Her first blow was low. “Tom’s not been around in awhile.”

Previously, Tom was not over frequently; I preferred going to his house. But Mum had noticed that his appearances had halted all together. “Hmm, no.”

“Are yeh broken up then?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeh know ‘s not like that between Tom an’ I.”

“Well things change as yeh get older,” she said as though sage knowledge was her speciality. It wasn’t, I thought snidely. But my mind did a double take on her comment. Things really do change as you age. For me, everything changed in one fell swoop. One night, things were just flipped, cut to pieces and then reassembled. “Yeh know, ‘s okay when things change,” she gently said.

Another eye roll. “I know.”

“An’ ‘s okay to ‘ave a crush on Tom. Or be ‘is girlfriend. ‘E’s a sweet fellow.”

I groaned and with a mouth full of peanut butter said “I don’ like Tom!”

“O’reight,” she nodded and sipped her tea delicately. “I jus’ want yeh to tell me things about yer life, Annie… Yeh never talk to me anymore.”

Shortly, I told her “We never really talked much to begin with.”

She scoffed but didn’t deny it. “Oh, Anna,” she reached out and laid her hand on top of mine. “I feel like I don’t know yeh anymore, love. Yeh wear all that bleeding make up now and them low cut shirts,” she said. I’d not noticed any change in my appearance. “An’ yer o’ways off at all hours with them dodgy friends yeh’ve made…”

“Dodgy?” My voice hardened defensively. “Which friends? Yeh’ve only met Gracie.”

“Aye, I’ve met Gracie and she’s a hoop through her nose and wears those military boots.”

“What’s wrong with that?” I was seriously offended by any implication that Gracie was anything other than lovely.

“Tha’s not the sorta friends yeh’ve ‘ad in the past.”

“Tha’s because I barely ‘ad friends before now,” I replied.

“Yeh ‘ad plenty o’ nice friends. Like Beth and Susan.”

I stayed quiet. Not mentioning that now Beth was a trashy sket and Susan had moved to Manchester when her parents divorced.

Mum changed directions. “So yeh an’ Tom ‘ad a fight or somethin’?”

“Or somethin’,” I mumbled.

“Yeh’ve not been tryin’ to sneak about with ‘im in secret?”

“Why would I keep it a secret if I was goin’ with ‘im?” I asked, rhetorically.

She frowned. “Well, ef yeh’ve not been hangin’ out with Tom, why does that brother o’ ‘is come and pick yeh up sometimes… Wha’s his name? Allie—no Oli. Oli, is it?”

“Yeah, Oli.” I didn’t like where this conversation was headed.

“Don’t tell me yeh’ve been hangin’ out with ‘im,” she said. I didn’t say anything. “Oh, Anna, yer not…” She looked gravely disappointed in me and I found myself not caring at all. “You know, ‘ve heard all about ‘im, I ‘ave.”

“Wha’ve yeh heard?”

“’Bout how ‘e acts. Runs right wild. Pisses about. No job. Not in school. ‘S jus’ bad parenting to let yer children do as they please like that.”

This rubbed me the wrong way. “S not bad parentin!” I insisted. “Oli certainly ain’t a bad person. Carol and Ian raised their kids jus’ fine.” I felt a harsh protectiveness for the Sykes. They’ve always treated me as their own.

“Anna, yeh won’t know about raising kids until yeh do it yerself. An’ then yeh’ll know that yeh gotta control yer children or else they won’t respect yeh.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What? Like how yeh controlled Sam?”

“That’s a different circumstance,” she immediately went into back pedal mode, startled by my combativeness.

“’S only different because it’s a different person. An’ different ‘cause Sam hates yeh an’ Oli loves his parents.” This was a difficult and almost cruel thing for me to say to her. And I felt remorseful for it but didn’t apologize.

“Did yer new friends teach yeh to be disrespectful like this?”

I shook my head. “No, I learned it from being disrespected.” I sat at very silent attention, staring at her, my back straighter and shoulders back, the way she’d taught me to pose.

“Anna?” She whispered, quite confounded.

“Why don’t yeh ever call me Savanna?” I asked abruptly.

“Wha?”

“Yeh’ve never once called me Savanna… Not that I can remember. Even when yer angry.” This had always perplexed me but I’d never felt bold enough to question her.

“I didn’t want to name yeh Savanna,” she said frankly.

“Yeh didn’t?”

“No. But yer father insisted on another S name after Sam an’… yer sister.” She couldn’t even say Sarah’s name. Not ever. She always just referred to her as ‘your sister’ and when she spoke with my father about her it was ‘your daughter’. “An’ I could live with the name Anna.”

“Yeh could live with it?” I didn’t like the way she had worded this. It disturbed me. “Shouldn’t namin’ yer child mean more than being able to live with it?” I seethed.

“Oh Annie, don’t get twisted about it. ‘S really not such a big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me, Mum. Yeh o’ways brush me off like I’m nothin’. Yeh’ve blindly ordered me around since I can remember. Yeh’ve never ‘ad any real affection for me… An’ now I know it’s o’ways been that way. Even when yeh was namin’ me.” It was slightly melodramatic but in this moment, it made perfect sense to me.

“Why are yeh getting’ so indignant, lovey? Yer so touchy lately…”

I sighed and stood up from the table. “Goodnight, Mum.” I left my dishes sitting, not caring to be in the kitchen any longer.

“Anna,” she called after me as I exited the room without responding.