Mama Killed A Man

“I’m really sorry about that,” John looked at me sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It was my fault,” I drew out a sleepy smile, “Don’t worry about it.”

A little after the dad debacle, a boy turned up with a few cases of beers and introduced himself as Jared. It was too dark to know what brand they were and I downed them too quickly to know what they tasted like, but an hour later John and I found ourselves tripping along the shore to the second-closest bus stop because John had cleverly suggested that we walk off the alcohol before returning home to our parents.

“They’re actually really nice guys,” he sighed, “I guess they were just a little star-struck.”

“They seemed it,” I said, pausing to pull off my vans, “Nice guys I mean, not star struck.” John raised a brow, smiling lightly. “I think they were just...surprised.”

The sand was pleasantly cool as it sifted between my toes and the breeze had picked up into a gentle wind. I pulled my hood down and let it play with my hair.

“Surprised? That you exist?” John chuckled, “Yeah, I think there’ll be plenty more surprised people in Tempe if you’re not careful.”

I stumbled and grabbed his arm for support. “I didn’t think about that,” I admitted.

John grabbed my arm and hoisted me back into a steady position as I rubbed my foot with my other foot, gazing across the lake.

John glanced down, “Amber, I think you’re bleeding.” Placing a hand on the small of my back, he tilted me backwards and lifted my foot a little higher into the luminescent glow of the street lights. “Yeah, you are.”

I winced and inhaled sharply between my teeth as he gently brushed the sand from the cut.

“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?” he sounded concerned. Carefully he tipped me back over; making sure my foot was still hovering safely above the ground. I was watchfully aware of his strong, calloused hands gripping my calf and lower thigh, and I froze, quickly removing my grasp from his shoulders.

“Amber?” John’s brow was lined with concern.

“It, uh, stings a little I guess,” I stuttered.

John smiled playfully, “You guess?”

Gently he released my leg and told me to keep it above the ground before stepping in front of me and crouching so that he was only an inch above my height.

“Jump when I get to three, ok?” he bunched his sleeves up around his elbows, “One, two-“

“Wait, what are we doing?” I interrupted.

“I’m giving you a piggyback ride. That cuts kinda deep and you don’t wanna be getting anymore shit in it.” I looked at him sceptically, “Don’t worry, I won’t drop you.” With a friendly grin, he turned back around, counted to three, and hoisted me onto his back.

The majority of the trip was walked in silence; it was hard to hear John from behind him and with the wind working against us. The heavy slap of his footsteps on the pavement lulled me into a half-slumber and I rested my cheek up against the back of his neck, breathing in his clean, yet boyish scent. My bare feet flopped loosely against his sides while my hands swung slackly over his shoulders, grasping my Vans between them. I hoped to the heavens that they didn’t smell, and reddened at the thought.

When we finally approached the foot of Gatsby, I woke myself up and gawked in horror at the steep hill sloping up before us. Just as I was about to offer to be put down, John hoisted me higher on his hips and lengthened his stride, shaking some hair from his face. Without thinking, I fixed a few locks behind his ears and he smiled a thanks. As we reached my doorstep, I sighed in relief and began raking out my pockets for my keys, handing them to John as he bowed his head to get past a tall pot-plant. He fumbled a little before sliding them smoothly into the lock.

The house was still dark and empty and as John turned to go, I heard myself calling him back.

“Thanks,” I said quickly, fighting the urge to ask him to stay, “For taking me out and carrying me back. I had fun.”

“Me too,” he smiled, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

John did a geeky little salute, turned on his heel and continued down the drive. I took a deep breath before closing the door and locking it behind him, hobbling slowly to my room. Once there, I stripped off and tugged on a baggy grey t-shirt and a fresh pair of knickers, shuffling into the bathroom to wash off my cut. As I lifted my foot into the sink and turned on the tap, I braced myself for the burn, but felt nothing. Turning off the tap, I dabbed my foot with a hand towel and brought it closer for examination. Little flakes of dried blood stuck to my skin and I picked them away to reveal a few light scratches that formed together in a little brown graze. A smile ghosted my lips and I sighed contently as I walked steadily over to my bed and crawled under the crisp sheets.

My body still pulsed with the motion of John’s footsteps.