Suburbia

I am stood just outside the school gates and I am looking at my hand. There is a deep gash on my palm, stretching from just beneath my thumb almost to my wrist.

I have no idea how it came to be there.

I touch it gently with the tip of my finger as blood swells around it, breaking against the dried crust already formed. When did that happen?

It’s throbbing gently, only reminding me of its presence; not demanding attention. How did I not notice that happening? Did I catch it on the wire fence, on a scalpel in science?

I can’t even remember how I got to where I’m standing; my mind feels hazy, like looking through heat waves: everything is there but nothing is real.

I reach up to rub my face, only to remember too late that my hand is still bleeding and I feel the wetness brush down the side of my face as the cut newly opens.

As I look down at the steady trickle of blood drip dripping onto the tarmac beneath me, I wonder for the first time since the day I found him, whether I really am okay.

“You’ve got blood on your face.”

I look up to where the voice came from and see the pale, elongated figure of Eve propped up on a tree branch, her legs swinging ever so slightly – barely at all.

I can’t tell whether I’m surprised to see her or not, I can’t tell whether I’m surprised by anything anymore.

“You weren’t in school.” I say eventually.

“No,” she agrees.

We’re silent for a few moments: me squinting up at her, bleeding hand held up to shade my eyes; her tracing patterns in the bark with her fingertips.

“I’m sorry I left this morning, I don’t really know why I did.” She is still staring down at the bark. I don’t say anything; I don’t know what there is to say. “When I woke up you were sleeping. Your face was so unguarded. I didn’t realise up ‘til then just how fortified your face is y’know – you never let anything in, anything at all.” She looks up at me then and I realise just how seldom I’ve seen her look at someone straight on, “Even now, you look so cautious, so wary. Don’t you ever get tired? Being on your guard constantly?” I just look at her, wondering whether she realises that I see the exact same thing in her face, “I guess you don’t really have a choice, none of us really have a choice.”

We’re silent again, blood slowly seeping down my arm as her legs swing – only just – until I slowly walk over to the tree and hoist myself up, finding grips in the knots of the trunk, until I’ve swung myself up to sit on the branch next to her.

“Are you okay?” I ask her eventually.

She seems to think the question over for a bit before she murmurs, “It depends what you mean by that.”

Her eyes have been fixed determinedly upwards towards the sky, but now she twists round to face me, staring at me in a way that makes me feel exposed yet it feels also completely familiar.

Then she tentatively brings her hand to my face where the blood has been spread across it and wipes it carefully away with her thumb, her brow furrowed as she does so. I stare at her lips; the soft contours are so completely Eve, supple and warm – her gentleness almost emanating from them.

I try to imagine them curled into the vicious snarl that was Vanessa yesterday but I can’t, it’s all wrong.

As I look up at her while she wipes the blood from my cheek, I know her to be the most beautiful person I have ever met – her soul and body forming into one, neither without the other, both beautiful, both intoxicating, both Eve.

Slowly, she takes her hand away and I watch it fall back into her lap as I feel the empty space next to my cheek, colder than the rest of my body, withering away with lost touch.

“I don’t understand you Eve.” I whisper. Her lips twitch slightly into a wry smile.

“I guess that makes two of us.” She whispers back. Her eyes lift back up to mine as her smile fades away.

“Leland,” she murmurs ever so quietly, her lips barely moving, only slightly brushing together, “I’m completely terrified that Vanessa will never go away.”

The words hang heavy in the air and I can almost taste the fear behind them on my tongue.
I don’t say anything for a moment, desperate to find the right words to say what I’m thinking, to make her better, to make her okay.

“I don’t know about Vanessa but I’m going to stick with you. Whether you’re Eve with a side of Vanessa or just Eve, I’ll stick with you. So, you know, no matter what, you’ll always have one person always there on the other side of everything, waiting.” I take a deep breath, “Because trust me, it’s a hell of a lot easier to deal with all the shit that life throws your way if you’ve got that one other person with you to help shoulder the burden.”

The air feels crowded after I’ve finished speaking, a jumble of words and feelings and nothing at alls all crushed into the space between us.

Eve looks at me slowly and steadily, “That person, that was Craig for you wasn’t it?”
I shut my eyes and turn away. My throat is suddenly dry and I try to swallow, even though there feels like there’s something lodged in the way, “Yeah, I guess he was.”

I feel something warm and soft curl in between my fingers; I open my eyes to see Eve’s fingers interlaced with mine as she looks at me through glittering eyes. “I guess I’d better stick with you too then.”

I look at her, and then I look down at our hands – the cut now concealed by her palm. I nod my head slowly as my hair falls to cover whatever my face is revealing too much of. I look away, down at our legs. Both of ours swaying ever so slightly - barely at all.