A Handful of Red Earth

One new text message. From Adam.

Are you still awake? I checked the time of the text. It was sent at 01.16 a.m., roughly two hours ago. I put my phone back down, and sat up.

Beside me, Ben rolled over.

I had drunk too much, and it was hitting me now. I’d have to call in sick for work tomorrow.

I got up out of the bed and picked up a shirt and some underwear from the floor and then padded out to get something- anything- to drink.

The house was dark, and quiet, but I knew it like I lived there. I didn’t make a sound as I snuck down into the kitchen and picked up a bottle of cider that had been left miraculously unopened. More alcohol was a bad idea, I knew, but my throat was horribly dry and at that moment I just wanted to take the edge off my pseudo-sobriety.

Ben was awake when I got back to his room.

“When did you go?” he asked, his voice raspy.

“I just went.”

“What’s that?”

“Cider.”

“Can I have some?”

I passed the bottle over to him, and watched as he drunk.

“Do you know what I think when I look at you?” I asked as he drew a hand across his mouth.

“What a cocksucking bastard?”

“No. That’s what I think when I think about you. When I look at you, I just think how beautiful you are.”

“Beautiful?” he seemed confused.

“Yeah. It almost makes me cry.”

“What, all the time, or just when you’re drunk?

“All the time. Every second of every day.”

I put the bottle on the floor by his bed and lay down beside him. It would make things difficult, but I just wanted to be close to him at that moment, while he was still talking to me.

“Even when you’re with Adam?”

I drew back.

“God, what is your problem?” I snapped, sitting up. “Answer me! Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” he said. “Now please, lie down.”

“No. I don’t want to anymore.” I picked up the bottle and put it to my lips.

“Ath… Athene, please,” he pleaded, placing a hand on my thigh.

“Why do you think you have the right to be possessive all of a sudden? You don’t even talk to me! You never talk to me.”

“I’m talking to you now.”

“You’re talking to me because no one else is here.”

“If I didn’t like you, you wouldn’t still be here. I’m talking to you because I like you.”

“You only like me when you’re drunk. I like you… I love you, all the time! You know this. And you don’t even care.”

“I do care Ath,” he said after a long, long silence.

“Then show me.”

“What?”

“Show me you care, if you do.”

“I can’t make myself love you.”

“I know. I’m not asking you too. But can you… can you please just stop ignoring me?” I realised that I was crying.

He planted a leg between my own. “Stop talking now, Ath. You’re drunk.”

“Ben, please listen to me. I can’t do this!”

“You can, Ath,” he murmured, landing a kiss against my cheek and pushing me back against the pillows. “But sleep now darling. You need sleep.”

“Ben, please don’t…” I started, but I had to stop. There was no way to tell him how much his being nice to me hurt.

Because I knew that tomorrow I would wake up and it’d be like that talk never even happened.

*

“Hello Jean?” I croaked into the phone. I cleared my throat.

“Jean isn’t here right now, it’s Grace.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Jean was my boss. She was nice enough, but she didn’t like me calling only ten minutes before I was due in, telling her I wouldn’t be able to make it.

“Hey Grace, it’s Ath. Can you tell Jean I won’t be able to come in today? I feel like shit.”

“Late night?” she asked, and I imagined her stretching across the desk, examining her nails. Grace was gorgeous.

“Yeah. I drunk way too much,” I sighed.

“That sucks. You want me to cover for you?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Alright. I’ll find Jean now.” I heard the click of the phone being put down and sighed. Grace was the person I was closest to at work. She’d handle Jean.

I lay back down and shut my eyes.

A knock on the door sent them flying back open.

“Ath? It’s Gabriel, can I come in? I brought you coffee.”

“Yeah, come in,” I said, sitting up again and leaning against the wall behind me.

The door clicked open, and Gabe shuffled in.

“Umm, I called you a cab as well… I hope you don’t mind.”

Gabriel was Ben’s older brother, but it didn’t show. He was excruciatingly shy, but he was always there to pick me up after a bad night.

“Thanks Gabe.” I took the coffee he offered and took a sip. It was just how I liked it; not too milky but very, very sweet. But it was also threatening to make me throw up, which naturally I didn’t want, so I put it down. I’d already thrown up twice before I called work, and I had vague memories of throwing up after Ben had tried to put me back to sleep.

“I should probably be getting ready,” I murmured, swinging my legs from beneath the covers and trying to ignore the stronger waves of nausea. Gabe flushed and looked away; I was only wearing the shirt and knickers from the night before.

It took a search to locate my jeans and when I found them they had maple syrup spilt down one leg and even more rips.

I sighed and pulled open Ben’s wardrobe just as he walked in.

“Ath, what are you doing?” he asked, walking right past Gabe and ignoring him.

“Looking for something to wear, obviously,” I spat.

“What’s wrong with your clothes?”

“My jeans are covered in maple syrup. I can’t wear them.”

From the corner of my eye I saw him pick up my jeans, inspect them and sigh.

I took that as consent and pulled out a pair of black jeans. They were a bit baggy but I honestly couldn’t care less.

“You have a text,” Ben said.

“What does it say?”

“It says Good morning. How are you feeling today? It’s from Adam.”

“Well, how are you feeling?”

“I feel like shit. Pass me my phone please.”

He threw it to me, but I missed it, and it slid across the floor. I had to drag myself over to where it was and pick it up- a huge expenditure of energy- before I could reply.

I’m feeling a bit shitty; I drank too much. How are you? I pressed send.

“How are you getting home?” Ben asked as I sat back down.

“Gabe called me a cab… speaking of which, where did he go?”

Ben shrugged. “God knows. He left when you were dressing. Do you mind if I bum a ride with you?”

“No,” I sighed, meaning yes.

“Thanks.”

I watched as he finished getting ready, which meant cufflinks and a tie. I couldn’t be bothered to ask where he was going and I had a feeling that I wouldn’t want to know anyway.

A knock on the door.

“Come in,” Ben called, tightening his tie and picking up a jacket.

“Ath, your cab is here,” Gabe said, poking his head into the room.

“Thanks Gabe,” I said, picking up my phone and my shirt, checking my keys and my purse were still in the breast pocket.

Gabe walked me down the stairs and helped me into the cab, and I lay down in the back seat, taking deep breaths in the hopes that the world would settle down again.

Ben sat in the front.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked.

“Hornsey Lane Gardens, number eighty-six, and then on to Archway,” Ben replied easily.

I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. That would be Adam.

I pulled it out and opened the message.

I’m just dandy, having gotten an early night- it was the only alternative to finishing unpacking.

I chuckled lowly, and begun to key in a reply -You lazy ass- I’d have been quicker!- and hit send.

I let my eyes drift shut, but then Ben’s voice floated back to me:

“Ath, we’re almost at your house. Get up.”

I sighed and hauled myself up, gathering up my shirt and pulling my purse out of the pocket.

The driver had just reached my road when it hit me.

“Ben, I left my jeans at your house.”

He sighed. “Well? What do you want me to do about it?”

“Can we go back?”

“Not unless you feel like paying another fiver,” he said, scathingly, and I huffed, irritated. “I’ll call Gabe, and get him to bring them round later.”

“Does Gabe know where I live?” I asked, just as Ben told the driver to stop. I asked again.

“I can tell him, Ath. Stop fussing and get out. Can you walk?”

“Yes, I can walk,” I snapped, even though I wasn’t so sure that I could.

I pulled myself out of the car, and over to my gate, then turned around pointedly, waiting for them to drive away.

The minute they were gone I sank down on the steps outside of my house.

“Are you alright?” I looked up to see a woman bending over me in a pink and purple tracksuit and a headband.

“Yeah, I’m alright, thanks,” I said, and cleared my throat.

“Hangover?” she asked, and I looked up at her again. She must have seen the bewilderment in my eyes, because she laughed and said: “my Adam’s always hungover. Best thing for it is haloumi and bacon on fried bread.”

I smiled weakly and offered a ‘thanks’ that barely reached her ears.

“Don’t mention it. Are you locked out? I live just next door, you can wait inside till your parents come home-“ she begun, but I cut her off.

“That’s okay, I’ve got keys. I just needed some air, that’s all.”

The woman- I reasoned she must be Adam’s mother, and when I looked, I could spot traces of him in her face- didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure dear?”

“Yes, thank you. But… you live at eighty-eight, don’t you?” I asked. The woman nodded. “Tell Adam I say hi, and good luck with his room.”

There was a moment of pure shock played out on the woman’s face, but she covered it well. “Of course I will- what’s your name love?”

“Oh, it’s Ath- but he’ll know me as Artemisia…” I said, trailing off, wondering how weird that might sound. She was giving me an odd look, one that I had seen before on the faces of Ben’s parents.

Christ, she was thinking that I was a whore.

“Okay…”

“I… I umm…” I faltered, not wanting her to think bad of me but not knowing what I could say to change her opinion. So I shrugged and finished lamely with “I should go inside. Umm, thank you again for your offer and your advice.”

The woman nodded.

“No problem. I hope you get over it quickly,” she said with a smile, and watched as I get up and made my way into the house.

My parents weren’t in, of course, and their was no clue as to where they’d gone or when they’d be back, not that I expected any.

I sat in the library with the radio on, listening to some drabble about something unimportant. I had it low, and the murmur of the words lulled me to sleep.

It was a sleep that couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes; I was woken up by the doorbell being rung again and again.

I groaned and got up when it became clear that whoever it was wasn’t about to give up and go away.

The shuffle to the door was painful, whoever it was evidently wasn’t having my pleas for them to shut up and leave.

It was Adam. Of course.

I turned around and shuffled away. The only reason I didn’t slam the door in his face was because I didn’t care to hear the bang that would make. I heard it click shut gently as Adam followed me, taking my lack of protest as assent.

“My mum said you were feeling a bit under the weather… actually she said you were hungover and you looked like it too. She sent me over with this-“ he paused, and there was another click as the library door was shut behind him. “It’s her hangover cure, she said she mentioned it. And she threw in fried tomatoes for good luck.”

I groaned from my new lounging point on the chaise longue.

“She said you have to eat while it’s not or it loses effectiveness. So here you go.”

He presented me with a plate of food, complete with knife and fork.

“Do I have to? I don’t think I can eat right now…”

“You might as well try. What have you got to lose?” he asked, beaming.

“Do you mean apart from whatever’s left in my stomach?” I muttered, but took the plate.

The meal actually looked very inviting although I could feel a heart attack coming on simply from looking at the plate.

So I gave it a go. I heaped some tomatoes on the bacon and haloumi fest, and took a bit. In fact, I got a fair few bites in there, and it was making me feel better right up until the point I had to run into the kitchen and throw up in the sink.

Adam followed, and did all the nice stuff like hold my hair off my face and not complain about the massive volumes of bile and barely digested food flowing from my mouth.

I was hovering over that sink until well after my stomach was empty, retching so hard that I was scared I’d puke up an organ next.

When he was sure I was done, he took me up to the bathroom and mopped me up.

“Do you want some water?” he asked after propping me up against the bath.

I nodded, not wanting to open my mouth. My throat had that burning, raw feeling that vomiting always produces, like the hydrochloric acid in my stomach had just stripped layers away.

I must have looked a wreck, and I cursed myself internally. Maybe slamming the door in Adam’s face would have been a better alternative. He was up with the water in no time at all, and he had to practically pour it down my throat.

“Guess maybe that was too soon,” he said as he wiped my mouth again- there was some water spilled there.

He made me tell him the way to my room, and there picked me up and carried me there before lying me down.

There was a memory of Ben doing the same thing, but I ignored it.

“Your room is nice,” he said, and I laughed.

“It’s plain.” The walls of my room are bare and white. There are a couple of pictures blutacked to them but little else save for my bookcase which is crammed full and spilling it’s guts into piles on the floor and my desk.

“It’s clean, and open,” he said, rewording my statement.

“I want to change it but I never get round to doing it.”

I felt my mattress dip as Adam sat on it. “What do you want to do with it?” I deliberated whether I should tell him or not- he might have thought it was stupid. “Artemisia? What do you want to do?”

“A tree,” I replied, deciding I had little else to lose by way of respect. “I want to paint a tree on this wall behind us.” I gestured to the wall the bedstead was pushed up against.

“And? What else?”

“I don’t know. Just- I guess, average stuff after that. A few posters. Pictures. Stuff.”

“Oh, I see,” he said, “the norm. Maybe a couple of stuffed heads would be nice, and a couple of hunting weapons as well. You know, I saw a tapestry the other day that would be brilliant on that wall…” his voice dissolved into laughter, and I soon followed.

“You’re an idiot,” I said, when I could.

“Actually, I’m a genius. Just misunderstood,” he replied, and his tone made me think- for some reason- of a preening bird. Sure enough, when I looked, he’d thrown his head back and was running his hands through his hair. I took my opportunity and used my feet to push him off my bed.

I knew as soon as I did it that it was a bad move as I was essentially trapped on my bed but it was definitely worth it to see the look on his face as he went down.

The look on his face when he came up though, would strike terror in the hearts of a thousand men.

“Now, how to punish you..” he said, having clearly already made up his mind.

Then, he launched himself at me.

*

Adam tickled me till I could no longer breathe. I could still feel the pounding in my head, but I was adamantly refusing to acknowledge it.

And now we were sat on my bed, looking at one of my most prized possessions; my Book of Shit.

“Why’d you call it that?” Adam had asked as he lifted it up, having just spotted it on my bedside table.

“Because it’s a book and it’s full of shit,” I replied, as if it were obvious.

“It’s pretty hefty,” he said, lifting it up and down before slipping the elastic bandeau that held it shut round and opening it.

Unlike most people, he didn’t simply flick through, he insisted on looking at every page and loose piece of paper I’d put in there- which meant that some had to be confiscated, and that I had to read over his shoulder in case he saw something embarrassing.

After a while, he protested when I tried to turn a page before he could read it, giving the reason that when it eventually got published and became international doctrine I wouldn’t be able to check over everyone’s shoulders. I had said that I’d make sure the embarrassing bits were edited out but he closed the argument by standing up and holding the book above my head till I gave up.

“Oh,” he had said when he’d finished. I didn’t say anything. “This is about Ben, isn’t it?” Again, I didn’t say anything. “You really like him, don’t you,” it wasn’t a question so he wasn’t annoyed when I didn’t answer. He pulled me into a hug and let me cry into his t-shirt for a bit.

“What did you read?” I asked, pulling myself away after a minute or so.

“Umm… shall I read it out? I’ll read it out…

‘He called today. It’s been so long since he called that I forgot I set him a different ring tone. I almost didn’t answer. The conversation wasn’t long, or about much. He just wanted to know if I was staying the night. I had said yes, without even thinking about it. I’m unsure as to what I should expect. More and more recently he has been drinking before we meet. And he’s stopped speaking to me, unless we’re together. I’m not stupid. I know what’s happening. I should have seen it coming. So I could have prepared myself. I doubt that would’ve helped though, not much. I fell into his trap willingly enough.
I’ll tell him. One day I’ll tell him how much I like him, and how much he’s hurt me…’”

Adam’s voice petered out into a silence that stretched forever. “Did you tell him?” he asked finally.

“Yes. I did.” There was another silence, evidently he was expecting more. “It was a bad move.”

“Ohh… why was that?” he asked. It took me a while to answer because I was thinking of how exactly I should word it, and whether I should even tell him- would he think I was pathetic? But I answered him eventually.

“Because if I hadn’t have told him, I could pretend myself that he didn’t know he was hurting me. Whereas now there is no escaping the fact that he just doesn’t care. After I told him, he stopped talking to me completely, and he avoided me the next couple of times we were somewhere together. He only even looked at me when Giselle asked him to walk me home one night.”

I stopped there, not wanting to go on; feeling I had already said too much.

Adam reached out to hug me again, pulling his arms tight around me and rubbing my upper arm comfortably.

“I’m pathetic, aren’t I,” I said once I had regained control of myself enough to speak.

“Not really,” he begun to say, but then the bell rang.

“I should get that,” I said, sighing.

“I’ll get it,” Adam said, automatically.

“No, really, I think you should just stay here-“ I said but he was already gone.

I shuffled, heaved myself out of bed and down the stairs after him.

“Umm, I’m Gabriel, Ben’s brother… Ath left these…” I saw Gabe hand a bag over to Adam, and rushed forward, snatching it from him.

“Thanks Gabe,” I said to his surprised face. “Do you want a drink or something?”

“Umm, no, I probably shouldn’t…” he said hesitantly.

“You might as well, unless- are you on your way elsewhere?”

“Oh! Well… no, but-“ he began saying, but I cut him off.

“Come on then. It’s the least I can do.”

There was a period of hesitation, but then he caved.

“Okay. Umm, thanks.”

We went through to the kitchen, and I was about to start making the drinks when Adam pushed me down into a seat at the table.

“I’ll do that. You should sit, and do your best to look pretty,” he said, picking up three clean glasses from the draining board.

“Adam, I can make a drink,” I began to protest, but he silenced me with a wave of a hand.

“Yes, of course you can. But whether you can make a drink and look pretty at the same time is not so sure- what with your current condition- and I’d much prefer that you do the latter.”

“Oh really?” I asked sarcastically, because I couldn’t think of anything else I could say.

“Artemisia, at this moment in time, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

“Eww, okay. That’s a little creepy, Adam, you might wanna put a hold on the crazy-stalker charm,” I said, as Adam set two almost overflowing glasses of juice in front of us before going back for his own.

“But Artemisia,” he protested, taking a sip, “crazy-stalker charm is the only type I have!”

I laughed, shaking my head.

“This boy,” I said to a slightly stunned, slightly shaking Gabriel, “is hopeless.”