Tremble

The next morning, Kaden lay awake in her bed, staring at the ceiling, the veins in her eyes thick and red from lack of sleep, and her fingers absentmindedly rubbed at the bruise on her neck. Not knowing what to think, what to feel, who to trust, and why she even had this dream, she pushed herself from the confines of the bed and trudged toward her dresser.

Right on cue, she heard both her mother and her father’s cars rumble to life and back out of the driveway in turn. Massaging the heel of her hands into her eyes, Kaden released a groan of anger and exhaustion.

“God, I’m really going to give that Aussie my best soccer kick the next time I see him.”

Turning with a gasp clogged somewhere in the back of her throat, Kaden jumped backward by two steps and stared at Callum, who’d been marching down the hall towards her room. She looked a mess, tragic and unfixable, but she tried to play it off cool and collected, which seemed much easier said than done.

“Cal, what are you doing here?” She asked quickly, looking from his figure to her bedroom door.

Shrugging, he pushed his sandy blonde from his face and towards the back of his skull, “Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“I don’t know, because you’re grounded?” Kaden snapped as she pulled her dresser drawers opened and hauled out clothing for the day’s apparel.

Faltering back by a step, Callum held his hands up, “Whoa, are you angry at me?”

Pressing the heel of her hands against her forehead now, Kaden shrugged and sighed. She pulled Callum’s washed-out Superman shirt over her camisole and moved around to the other side of her bed to switch her sweatpants for her dark jeans. “I don’t know how I feel about you right now.”

“You’re really angry with me right now? That freak nearly broke your wrist yesterday, and you’re angry with me?” Callum’s voice shredded disbelief as his golden eyes widened in an emotion that Kaden was very unfamiliar with.

“Don’t call him that!” She screamed, her foot stomping once to emphasize the depth of her anger and the reality of her feelings.

“Don’t call him that?” Callum echoed, his breath huffing and puffing, “Kaden, he picked up your hand and twisted it and slammed it down onto the table. He was trying to break your wrist. For no reason, either, Kaden. He’s a fucking freak.”

Nearly tripping into a run, Kaden moved around the bed and started to push Callum. With each push, she yelled, “Get out, get out, get out! Leave, Cal!”

Skidding backwards with each thrust and pushes towards the door, Callum grabbed onto her shoulders to try to steady her. Unsuccessful and unreceptive, Callum finally slipped out of the confines of her bedroom.

“Are you doing this, Kade?” Callum growled, “Are you picking him over me?”

“I’m not picking anyone, Cal. But if you want this to keep going strong between us, you need to find some sort of grey area between him and me.”

Suddenly, his fingers started to tighten on her shoulders, pinching her skin and muscles between his grips. He said lowly, “One day, Kaden, you’re going to have to pick one day.”

Staring at him staring at her, Kaden’s breathing fell in shudders. Shaking her head, she stepped out of the pain of his fingers, “I have to get ready, Cal.”

Kaden threw the door closed and returned to getting dressed as Callum banged on the door, screaming: “Figure out your own way to school, bitch!”

Whipping her head back, she stared at the door for a moment until she heard her heavy front door clamber closed from Callum’s forceful pull. Shaking her head, she pulled on a light grey hoodie and slipped into her shoes before heading into the bathroom to finish her necessities.

Taking one stair at a time, she headed into the kitchen with her hair brushed, teeth washed, and bag slung onto her shoulder, all ready to catch the school bus. Cooking her bagel and spreading the butter on it quickly, Kaden made a break for the front door and sprinted down the block until she saw a small crowd of fellow highschoolers.

Kaden hadn’t taken the bus to school since her sophomore year, having always had a ride because Callum had his car since the middle of their second year of school. As she sat beside the window, she recalled the fight, focusing on his finishing statement. A part of her couldn’t believe that he’d say such a crude thing to her, and then an even greater part of her could believe it wholeheartedly. Having never really fought with Callum, Kaden didn’t even really know what to think right now. Was she supposed to cry? Was she supposed to scorn him? At this moment, she didn’t know when the right time to call him was, or if he was supposed to call her first.

Pressing her hand to her forehead, her head started to shake on its own accord, “This is so confusing,”

____________________

When first period rolled around, Kaden had been slouching in her chair, ready for the day to be over with already. It wasn’t even that she wanted to make up with Callum—because, to be honest, that was the furthest thing from her mind at the moment—it was because she wanted to head to bed and erase (or relive) the dream from last night.

Asher pulled his stool back with the toe of his boot and spun around on the seat until his long legs were tucked under the table and his arms crossed over each other on the tabletop. Hauling his messenger bag onto the counter beside them, Asher’s dark eyes, dark gaze, dark demeanor never turned toward Kaden. Feeling both elated and disappointed by this, Kaden turned her gaze to the side to peek at him, but he was staring at the screen.

“Why do you stare at me?” Asher whispered through unmoving lips, his long fingers thumping beats onto the blacktop.

Turning her head toward him completely as Mrs. Brigham pulled the LCD screen down and started a new film to go along with the chapter subject: Friends. “I—I wasn’t staring at you.”

“Is it because you want to see how long it’ll take for me to talk to you, or is it because you’re afraid to talk to me?” Asher insinuated, his voice small, but his meaning powerful and mind-twisting.

“Neither,” Kaden whispered back, her eyes flicking between the two little girls running along the beach to Asher’s face, his eyes, which weren’t focused on anything in particular. “About last night,” Kaden began.

“Out of sight, out of mind.” Asher offered as he angled his chin towards his partner, but kept his eyes over her head and staring at nothing in particular. “It doesn’t even matter anymore, doll.”

“It does matter,” Kaden snapped, her voice hitching quickly but then settling back down so as not to gather anyone’s attention. She cleared her throat and turned her eyes back to stare at her folded hands. “Everything changed last night, Ash, and you know it.”

“Correction,” Asher began, his finger pointing at the ceiling towards nothing in focus, “Everything could have changed last night. I stopped it. You’re not ready to feel as guilty as I’m willing to make you feel.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kaden bit back, her audacity becoming as tangible as the table they sat at.

Asher’s lips curled in a wicked smile, the gleam surreal and bright in the darkness of the room. It matched his ethereal skin, pale and glowing against the artificial light of the LCD screen.

“It means that I’m prepared to do real, tantalizing, unforgivable things to you, Kaden. Things you’d only wish your prissy soccer star ever could. The only problem is, I don’t think you’re ready for the same things. Just as well, I’m also prepared to wait it out until you are.”

“What happens if I’m never ready? You can’t predict these things, Asher. You can’t wave your hand around and grab me the way you do and expect me to just jump into your arms.” Kaden explained, almost tripping over the words she had in her head and the words that fell from her lips.

“On the contrary,” Asher simply said, his eyes going back towards the movie with a cringe around the edges, emphasizing his distaste for the film that was picked for this subject.

Pressing her hand to her temple, Kaden leaned into her palm and stared at the moving images. Unsure of what to say, how to reply, why she should even listen to another word that left his lips, Asher started ripping a piece of paper from his spiral and scribbled down on it in his usual messy scrawl.

“The things I want to discuss can’t be said in riddles and classroom censorship. You know where this is?” Asher whispered somewhere close to Kaden’s ear.

On the scrap of paper read: Chestnut Avenue, Lazar Field, Windmill Barn—9:15p.m. By the time Kaden looked back up, recognized the address, registered the meeting spot, she found that Asher had begun drawing on a piece of college ruled notebook paper. He had his knee propped on the stool and leaned over the work, his hand with the pencil sketching whatever she saw in his mind’s eye and his free one smudging appropriately. Wanting to lean over and gather a sneak peek, Kaden sternly forced herself to stay in her spot.

She watched him take each stroke and jagged slip that his hand would make while he drew out his next picture. They sat in utter silence for minutes on end, the movie in the background taking full flight all with the power to get chuckles and snorts of good review from half-asleep teenagers. Asher’s hand would sketch and stroke and his free hand would trail after and smudge all around the edges of the paper, giving it a hazy feel even without seeing the picture in full.

Even after another ten minutes, Asher continued to sit hunched over the notebook and completely zoned in on whatever he was working on while Kaden flicked her gaze between the movie and Asher’s working masterpiece. It was then that Mrs. Brigham paused the movie and flicked the lights back on, pulling the LCD screen back up.

“Well, we’ll pick this back up on Monday. Okay guys? Everyone have a good weekend. Be kind.” She smiled, her eyes going to every single student in the room, and two seconds later, the releasing bell rang.

Like warrior ants, everyone scooted their stools back and filed out towards the door. Kaden and Asher were left behind as he finished his drawing. Nearly a minute later, his head snapped back and he turned his head toward Kaden, who still sat silently beside him, staring at the paper.

Without saying a single word to her, Asher stood up and trailed his middle and index finger down the length of her neck before he pulled his messenger bag over his head and walked out the door as well.

Fearful and anxious, she scooted over into Asher’s seat and mimicked his stance prior, her knee propped on the stool and hunched her body over the picture completely, her hazelnut hair spilling over her shoulder. Her eyes went wide and she found that she couldn’t close them from the picture beneath her.

It, as usual, was Asher and Kaden together. Asher’s back was braced against a wall and he was sitting with Kaden in his lap, one of her knees propped up as her head was thrown back onto his shoulder. One of her hands was deep in his hair and the other gripped the wrist of Asher’s hand, which was gripping her neck as usual.

Asher’s head was buried deep in Kaden’s neck, his hair covering all of the features of his face as his hand held her neck with tentative, supportive fingers. His free hand was wrapped around her waist as he held Kaden securely to his chest while she arched her back up.

The picture resembled that of ecstasy and potent need as if it were leaking through the page and spilling all over the table in puddles. Kaden looked like she was begging and pleading and receiving and Asher looked like he was controlling and understanding and giving her what she craved.

There in the bottom corner, in the same calligraphy from the prior pictures read the word: Mine.