Maudlin Melody

“Here you go,” Josh hands me a can. I look at it, unsure of what to do.

“What is it?” I ask him. At this Josh laughs out loud. I know it’s probably a stupid question. It’s without a doubt alcohol. And I’m not sure that I want any. I’ve only ever had wine before, and that’s only ever a Christmas and New Years thing. I’m a fail of a sixteen year-old and I know it. I don’t know if I can handle this though. My uncertainty must be clear on my face because after a moment he calms -quicker than he obviously would have in a different situation.

“Don’t worry, Harry told me you don’t really drink so you’re probably a lightweight. He says he’ll come see you in a bit but he was busy with Cara,” this statement comes with a wink. I flush. “Sooo, I got you this; pear cider.” I look at the can that is now in my hand, and uncurl my fingers slightly. Sure enough, it says Premium cider, Kopparberg Pear. I’m still slightly nervous. Which, of course, is ridiculous.

“Okay. I guess. I mean, is it okay? Have you had this? Is it good?”

“It’s fine,” Josh assures me. “Now, come with me.” I follow him. This is even scarier than the gig. So much more pressure. Before it was okay just me, because there was music and everyone was together, not talking- just feeling. Going along with it. Even at the end, outside, it was fine because they were spread out. Nobody noticed me.

Now... Now it’s different, we’re all cooped up in this small house. There are so many people hanging off every wall, making out on every couch, dancing and just moving in every free space (which, I guess, means the space isn’t free anymore), and I don’t fit in. At all. The moment I entered I regretted it. Harry disappeared with Cara and the house was already full. I don’t even want to imagine how many people are here, but Josh is with me--

“Okay, I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

“What?” My eyes widen as I watch Josh back away. We’re outside now, and everyone’s smoking, and drinking, and laughing, and I’m dizzy with regret. I don’t fit.

“Calm down,” he grins easily, and suddenly I see a flicker of mischief that makes me uneasy me. He isn’t looking at me anymore though, but someone behind, seemingly on the floor. “Addy?!”

“Jooosh-ua?” I whip around as I hear the main singer’s voice too close, too smooth, from behind me. Are you actually kidding me?! He’s lying down on the grass surrounded by a load of people (including another member of the band, I’m not sure what he plays), propped up only by his arms, looking at Josh.

“Can you take care of Harry Junior for a bit please? Charlie wants my cock.”

My cheeks burn red as the Adonis on the floor smiles a little, his green eyes slipping to me, though I choose to blame Josh’s crude name for his genitals. The smile he offers sends something cold through me, but I take too long to return it; he’s already looking at Josh again. “More like needing to cry to you about some other manipulative, selfish dick.”

“Probably. But; Harry Junior.”

“I’m not good at baby-sitting,” he sighs, but he’s looking at me and smiling. I return it this time, too shyly, I think. I need to work on this whole confidence thing. He’s got it down though. As Josh backs away, offering a wave and a promise of his return, Addison raises his hand to me expectantly. I frown slightly and sort of move my hand to touch his. He laughs at this and grabs mine, pulling down hard so I fall onto the grass next to him. The guy next to me shuffles a little to make space and I settle into it self-consciously.

“Hello, hello,” he murmurs, sitting up.

“H-hi,” I stutter. Because he’s practically a celebrity around these parts. And because I’m an idiot.

“Guys,” he says. His voice wasn’t even particularly loud, but pretty much everyone in the circle looks to him, interested to know what he’s about to say. I’m mesmerised. “This is Harry Day’s brother, Nikky.”

I laugh a little, embarrassed, “Mikey,” I say. I’m not loud enough, and they begin to ask what I’ve said. Of course, being the idiot I am I begin to panic seeing as they’re all paying too much attention to me.

“Mikey! That was it, shit, sorry,” Addison saves me, and that’s it. They all acknowledge this and then return to their previous conversations; my five seconds of fame (or almost fatal embarrassment) are over. There’s silence on my part for a moment. Someone asks Addison something and he turns to them to talk. I look around. The garden isn’t large, but it isn’t small either. It still fit’s a shocking amount of people in it. And there are a few fairy lights dotted around the place but they don’t help too much. They look sort of garish actually, but what do I know?

“You gonna drink that?”

For a moment I turn back to Addison, unsure what he's talking about, but his eye are aimed at the forgotten can of cider in my hand. I look at it, surprised.

“Oh. Yeah, I mean... I,” I don't finish my sentence knowing how much of an idiot I sound and look, and struggle instead to open the can. It clicks open with a pop and an hiss, and I am kind of at a loss of what to do now. I raise it to my lips but just the smell alone is off putting. I've always hated the smell of alcohol... Cider. Whatever this is. A glance at Addison shows he's amused.

“You don't do this often do you?”

I laugh a little, “What? Go to gigs of live bands? Getting stuck in mosh pits? Drinking this? Koppabag or whatever it is,” I earn a chuckle at this which causes pink cheeks. “Yeah. I don't do it often.”

“I'm surprised,” Addison smiles. “Harry's a fucking party animal, I'd have thought you'd be a little more like him.”

“Ah,” I murmur, sitting straight as I finally take a sip from the can. I wince, allowing the drink to run about my mouth, over my tongue. It's not bad. Not apple juice, but not bad. I take another sip. “But then my dad would have nothing to live for. I'm the good son,” I tell Addison.

And, shit. I'm the apparent "good son" but I'm drinking under-age at a party where the majority of the attendants are probably high. Why? The circle I'm sitting in are passing a suspicious rollie that gives off a vaguely weed-smelling scent. Just as I think this, it gets to Addison and he takes it between his index finger and thumb then lifts it to his lips. His eyes close as he takes it in. This seems the natural thing to do. When he takes it out he offers me a drag.

And I want to. He's looking right at me and I want to. I'll look so bloody uncool and stupid if I don't, but I glance at the joint and the thought of smoking that is even more terrifying.

“N-no, I don't smoke,” I tell him apologetically, “But thanks... I mean, for offering…” I have a sneaking suspicion that, as he's watching me with his left eyebrow arched, I have a blush growing.

“Wow.” He grins suddenly and stretches his arm to the guy next to me. The guy looks at me.

“Not having any?”

“No,” I say just as his eyes widen and he sits up.

“Hey! It's you!” I furrow my eyebrows as he takes the joint and smokes it, like it's the only thing that could ever give him pleasure again, before shaking his head and passing it on. “You were next to me tonight, basically the whole way. Got up on stage at the end too. You know Harry?”

“Alice, you twat, I just explained that he's Harry's brother. Mikey,” Addison glances at me, “Right?” I nod in agreement, unsure if I heard the guy's name right. Alice? I peer at him closer. He could be a girl... He's wearing thick eyeliner and his hair is long and blonde, the ends spiky and dyed orange. But despite his feminine lips, and cat-like eyes he definitely looks like a guy. He has to be. Surely. Besides; his voice is masculine- just. Right. I almost look down to see if he has a bulge in between his legs but my cheeks flame red instead and I try to duck my head to hide it, my eyes purposely directed away from Alice.

“Yeah,” Addison continues. “Sixteenth or something. Fucking listen will you?” Despite saying this, 'Alice' doesn’t falter.

“Fuck, sorry. Happy birthday, Mikey. Nice moshing with you too,” he offers me am impish smile. “I picked you up when you fell the first time, remember me?”

“Um,” I begin to shake my head, but I think I do actually. “Oh! When someone stood on my shoulder?”

“Yeah! How is it?”

I wince as I try to rotate it, “Okay I guess, my ribs got hurt after that though, and those are worse.”

“Shit, let's see-” and before I have the chance to register what's been said, my shirt has been lifted up for the second time that night, his hands are feeling the bruised skin, and his face is nearing my stomach so he can see better in the bad lighting. I can only gape in surprise and make sure my can of cider doesn’t spill on him.

“Uh,” and I'm blushing again as a second hand begins to feel my skin. Addison has leaned in and is looking into my eyes as he does it.

“What happened?” he wants to know.

“I, ah- mm, I got elbowed,” and kicked, and pushed, and some girl knocked her head with mine too. But yeah, my ribs were elbowed.

“Ouch,” Alice murmurs. Their hands ghost over my skin for a moment longer before they both lean back. Alice sighs. “Bad times, Mike. Better luck next time, huh? You were way too calm though, you gotta make sure to give out some punches and elbow some twats of your own, yeah? Invite some fucks you know.”

I smile a little, my cheeks hot, “I'll remember that.” I'm still kind of reeling from the shock. Is it natural over here (because it feels like a whole different world) to feel people's skin? And guys feeling the skin of other guys? Fine; I was bruised, but it all felt too intimate. Too... Close. I'm unsure about how I'm meant to react. Maybe Harry did tell them I might possibly be gay, and they're all teasing me. The thought causes me to panic and I drink more of my pear cider rather than dwell on it too much.

He wouldn't have.

The weed has come around again. Addison takes his share then turns to me, and with his murky green eyes trained on mine it’s a little hard to swallow. “Drink.”

I look at him, confused. “Wh-?”

“Trust me. Drink.” His tone isn't harsh, but it's firm, and Alice watches gleefully, knowingly, as I do just as he says. The main singer of Naught A King smiles at me and I feel a jolt of something inside. “Keep going,” he tells me, his voice low. There's something in it, something I can't explain, but I'm excited. And I keep going. The more I drink the more accustomed I am to the taste, the less I want to pull away and wince. And there’s that slow smile I predicted he’d have, it’s growing, and there’s a swell of pride in my chest.

“Now, close your eyes, and do what I tell you.”

Fuck, I know it's weed. I know he's going to get me to smoke it. I know it's probably bad. I know I shouldn't get involved. I know I should probably get up this second, go find Harry and get him to call dad and take me home so that I can lie in my bed and listen to Elvis until I fall asleep, the way I spend most of my other nights. But I don't. I mean, shit, I'm sixteen, my life is a boring, empty repeat of the same crap. Harry is always doing something, always texting someone, always busy. And I want that. I don't want to waste my bloody life away. I'm sixteen. So I mouth a simple 'Okay' -an hesitant ‘Okay’-and close my eyes, my heart beating erratically as I part my lips and struggle to calm my nerves. Next thing I know I feel the dry papery cylinder touch my sensitive lips. They tingle with anticipation and I don't know what to think. At all. So I don't.

And when I've followed all Addison's instructions the first time, I choke. It's hell. I feel like I'm going to fucking die, and regret is clawing it's way up my throat along with my (seemingly) last breaths, but, fuck, I'm doing it again. And it's a second time lucky thing apparently, because this time it's so sweet, and it's rolling over my tongue and my mind is blank- silent- in shock. I’ve always expected this kind of explosion of something, because it’s weed, but nothing really happens like that. And the third time is the best, and I can't understand why I’ve never done it before. The fourth time it's not a joint I feel on my lips, but something softer, more gentle, slightly wet, inviting...

I haven't got time to think about the fact that my first kiss is taken in the exact opposite of an occasion I would have liked it; when I've been drinking, taken drugs, surrounded by people I don't know, by a person I don't know, and worst of all? A guy. (Fine, I’m gay but there was always that sliver of hope, the voice in my head that screamed “Be straight! You‘re straight-”) How can I offer a moment to those things when Addison, fucking Addison O'Brien, is kissing me, Mikey Day? It‘s true.

And I hardly even take notice when I hear Josh yell my name, or think to react when Alice laughs that I'm fucking Addison tonight. There's a gentle hand on my cheek and despite the cold air around me, I feel much too hot, and I'm content.

Maudlin Melody

There’s a warm mass next to me. Its moves a little and then is still again, and I hear a yawn. I push my back against it, liking the way it warms me slightly, liking the way it shuffles a little. I try to open my eyes but my lids are too heavy. I use a hand to wipe at them when I’m suddenly attacked with a pain in my skull, so concentrated I’m sure someone’s trying to drill a hole into it.

Fuck!

“Hmm?!” There’s a mumbled voice that clearly belongs to the mass of warmth that isn’t so comforting anymore.

It’s only by this response that I realise I’ve sworn out loud. The pain strikes again and again and again and it’s fucking unrelenting. I’m dying. I’m actually dying. I struggle to sit up but this seems to trigger it, as well as an unexpected stab of throbbing agony that spirals upwards and out from my ass.

What the hell is going on?

I open my eyes and, of course, have to shut them again, the disgustingly bright artificial light coming from the bulb above me burning my sensitive eyes. I can’t comprehend what’s going on. My stomach feels so strange and empty and I’m starving and I want to die and I just can’t understand why…

“What?! What is--”

Then I sit up- wincing through the pain. The sheets stroking across my chest confirm what I’ve just figured out. I’m naked. I’m naked in a bed that is not my own. A bed dressed with cream sheets and a baby pink duvet. A room littered with pictures of people I don’t know and words I don’t understand, all put together in some kind of collage as a symbol of friendship.

What?

And I can’t for the life of me understand what could have happened. The headache is still clawing at the little sanity I have left so I don’t consider sex, and I don’t consider looking at the person next to me at all. I step up instead, and it’s apparently too quickly because I stumble back and forth, pain shooting seemingly from every part of me, my eyes rolling around my head uncontrollably and I fall backwards, right back where I came from. I groan and my mouth tastes disgusting. Like sick. Like sick and fucking alcohol.

I remember. Just. There’s still too much blood pumping, too fast, and my lungs don’t seem to be working how they should. Not at all.

I’m at Cara’s house. And the last thing I remember? Addison.

I turn to my left and, sure enough, there he is… Addison O'Brien… Lying beside me on a bed that belongs to neither of us, also naked.

I can’t take it. I won’t believe it. I want to die. And, as my eyes flutter again and I feel darkness surround me, I sincerely hope that’s what I’ve done.

Maudlin Melody

I stir and I shiver, feeling a cold breeze across my skin. I run a hand across my chest and scratch it lazily. There's a disgusting taste in my mouth, and I feel myself frown.
Fuck-- there is it again; the banging. It won't stop, and I squeeze my eyes together, praying for it to somehow disappear. My hands are pressed to my forehead and I can feel tears easing out of the corners of my eyes as I try to raise myself up into a sitting position but can't because of a pain in an uncomfortable place.

I'm crying. I grab a pillow from the side and bring it to my face. I'm weeping into it, sobbing, and I'm not completely sure why.

“Mikey? Mikey are you okay?”

I gasp and choke on my own saliva as I open my eyes and turn to the side. My brother looks like he’s just woken up too, and he’s watching me, his eyes filled with concern. His hair is all over the place and his eyes have evidence of exhaustion lining them underneath, the bags carrying the tiredness he refuses to acknowledge. He's lying on top of my duvet topless but wearing the faded ripped jeans he had on yesterday.

“H-Harry,” I hiccup, and I reach for him, holding onto his hand. He clutches my hand in his and holds on hard. My head is still pounding and I can hardly bear it, I can't think, I can't hear. I'm so fucking pathetic. My brother smiles a little and sighs, relieved. His eyes look damp though, and I don't like it.

“Shit, man, I'm so fucking sorry, Mikey,” he tells me. A big hand rises and runs through his own hair. “I should never have taken you, never-”

“N-no, hey, Harry,” I close my eyes, the strain of keeping them open hurting too much. “Shit, it was me, you didn't do any-anything, y-you didn't,” and I can't help but burst into tears again. I'm slowly realising. What happened before is slowly coming back to me. The feather-light kisses leading to feather-light touches... And suddenly pain -sharper than anything I've ever felt- cutting into me, cutting inside me, and I can't bear it, but it's Addison, it was Addison and--

“Harry? Did I...? Did I actually...?” He doesn't say anything. The pain is throbbing, unrelenting, in my head and I don't know what to do, I can't breathe. I hiccup again but it gets stuck in my throat and I need something- I open one of my eyes and catch Harry's guilty expression.

“I should have been there... Dammit, fuck Mikey, I should have been there-”

“So, it happened?” He nods slowly, a wince on his face, his eyes running down my body. I attempt to lift my head and see I'm completely naked, other than a pair of boxers. I shiver again and curl up, I'm shaking. Harry's hand tightens around my own.

“I'll kill him, I'll fucking kill him, I, I- he knew-”

“Don't do that, Harry, H-Harry d-don't,” and I'm crying again.

Maudlin Melody

"Ah, you okay, Mikey?"

I glance up from my hot chocolate. Harry is standing at the doorway, unsure about whether to come in or not. I shake my head gently, having realised that any quick movements in my sensitive condition cause the hammer in my head to go crazy. At the moment, thanks to two Paracetamol tablets and an Ibroprofen, it's become a dull pain that I can ignore if I try hard enough.

"Fine," I answer. "I'm good. Please, Harry, don't worry about it..."

"I have to. Dad's going to fucking kill me, he made me promise-"

"He doesn't have to know," I murmur. "I'm just feeling a little under the weather, nothing to do with yesterday," I whisper. My voice almost cracks and I feel so uncomfortable in my own skin. I can't believe what happened. What I allowed to happen. Because, really, there is no one to blame but myself, is there? I could have said no. I remember taking more and more drinks as the night rolled on, and smoking more and more fucking weed until my brain was nothing but fuzz and the grass seemed to grow and bend and twist up and… Upper.

"No, Mikey, Addison raped you, didn‘t h-"

"He didn't rape me!" I growl, my eyes darting to Harry. He looks pained. I look back down, subdued. I’m afraid. I’m fucking afraid. And everything is uncertain and everything hurts. "I was drunk, I most probably agreed to it anyway."

"But who got you drunk in the first place?!" Harry yells suddenly, eyes wide with anger- part of which I'm sure is directed at himself. That upsets me; it’s not his fault at all.

"I did, Harry-"

"No! He did, I specifically said nothing strong, Josh told him afterwards when he saw you two, he warned Addison, but he gave you spirits, didn't he? He-"

"I don't know!" I shout, I'm shaking and I feel hot and red and the headache's back again and I just want to lie down and die. To curl up into a ball and die.

There's a silence, sizzling with fear and uncertainty. I’m still in shock. And I feel so numb. But worst of all, I’m helpless. It’s happened, and I feel so lost.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, Mikey."

"It wasn't you." I drink my hot chocolate but I'm not tasting it. I don't like that fact that it's hot, I'm too hot for that myself. I push the mug away and watch, unmoving, as a little slops out and over the side, dripping miserably onto the surface. "I don't remember it anyway," mostly.

"That's hardly a good thing," Harry mutters. It's bitter. He's angry. Still. And it's tiring. I don't know what else to say.

Harry walks into the kitchen and over to where I am as I begin to rise off my chair slowly, leaving the mug of unfinished hot chocolate.

"This isn't fair, why aren't you hung over too?" I sigh lightly, trying to change the subject.

"I am," Harry sighs, pulling me to him. "You're such an idiot, Mikey. Such a stupid idiot." I don't care that he's insulting me, only that he's holding me and I don't have to stand alone anymore. I close my eyes, wishing I could fall asleep but my hangover doesn’t want to allow me, so I close my eyes and stumble into the embrace blearily, blind. There's a pause pregnant with silence, and it's all that I need.

“He’s a mother-fucking dickhead, I should have known…”

I push away from Harry slightly. "Why do you have to bring it up?" I’m so tired of everything. I don’t want to think about it anymore. It still feels surreal, I still feel a little drunk. I’m not ready for the reality of what has happened. I don’t want to be ready. “I’m going to my room,” I mutter.

“Are-”

“I’m sure, Harry. I’m fine, forget it,” as I say this my eyes are stinging, calling for tears to ease out, but I’ve turned away and Harry doesn’t see anything. All I want is my bed. I don’t want him constantly bringing it all up. I don’t want him reminding me of whatever happened when I’m perfectly fine pretending it never did.

I leave Harry standing in the kitchen without another word and make my way to my room. On my way I can hear my dad stirring in his room and I hurry to shut my door (with as quiet a click as I can manage) and retreat to my bed, in between my duvet and my sheets I feel slightly safe... A little better.

It’s almost funny how much of an idiot I am. How ridiculous I was. It’s entirely my own fault. Drinking alcohol? Smoking weed? To try and prove I’m a worthy sixteen year old? But I’ve got no clue. For a minute I consider turning on some Elvis CD, but the hammer in my head seems to smack down particularly hard at that point, daring me to do so, and I fall asleep in silence, curled into a foetal position, tears tracking my cheeks.

Maudlin Melody

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