Two Hundred and Thirty

I couldn’t help but groan as I flipped over the pillow to get the cold side, opening my eyes for a fraction of a second before closing them again. My head was thumping and my throat unbelievably dry, not to mention the dull ache throughout my body and the agonising pain in my arm. I nuzzled my head back into it, preparing myself for an entire day in bed when it dawned on me.

My pillow wasn’t white… I distinctly remember it being purple.

I flashed my eyes open and shot up right. My breathing notched up a level as I scanned the room.

This wasn’t my pillow. This wasn’t me bed. This wasn’t my room.

The walls were bare, stained faintly with marks from where pictures or frames had once hung there. The dark curtains prevented any light from getting in, the kind of place that would be ideal for hiding away from everything for however long you wanted. Apart from the collection of guitars that were propped up against the wall, there was absolutely no character. Not a thing out of place, like nobody had ever lived there.

I shot out of bed, flinging the covers from off me. The guitars. The layout and size of the room; the same as my own. I was in John’s apartment.

I straightened out my dress, being thankful beyond comprehension that I was still fully clothed, my dress and tights creased but still on my body.

The room began to spin slightly as I tried to focus on why my arm was hurting so much. I held it in front of me, trying to hold in a gasp at what I saw. A blood stained bandage that wrapped around my forearm. How the hell did that happen? How the hell did I end up in John’s bed?

I shuffled across the hardwood floor until my toes hit my boots that were neatly aligned at the foot of the bed. I quickly bent down and clutched them tight to my chest. I was acting as fearful as if I were in a horror movie and someone was about to jump out and kill me.

My eyes locked onto the door handle and I made a b-line straight for it.

I needed answers and if I couldn’t get answers from him, then I’d leave and never come back. Confusion and a hangover can lead to irrationality.

I popped the door open with my free hand, the morning sunlight beaming into my eyes the second I stepped out. Just like in my own apartment, the light shone throughout, almost unbearably.

I scanned the room, to find John sprawled across the couch, completely out for the count. My stomach plummeted. He’d slept on his couch whilst I lay passed out in his bed.

Partly, I was telling myself that I owed it to him to stay until he woke up to thank him, but the thought of him telling me about what happened last night- the panic in my chest at just the thought told me that I needed to leave.

Shifting silently, I sat on the stool by the piano- he had a piano. I stopped myself and turned to face it, expecting to see sheet music in front of me. But instead, a notepad with a pen clipped over the front. My mind raced to images of him sitting here for hours, much like he did on the balcony. I felt a heat prickle down my neck. I wished I could listen to that too.

The deep sound of a groan that came from over my shoulder caused me to quickly shove my boots on and forget about the piano. I stuffed my laces into them rather than waste time tying them up. I stood and crept as quietly as I could past the couch where he lay wearing what were obviously last night’s clothes. I just about reached the door when-

“Where you going?”

His gravelly morning voice sent chills over my skin.

“I- home- I didn’t want to wake you-“ I said once I turned away from the door.

He chuckled and sat up more, laying his arm on the back of the couch.

“You don’t remember last night do you?”

I looked at my feet.

“You don’t have your keys” He added.

“What? Why?!”

“Calm down. Sit, have some coffee, I’ll tell you” He stood up and made his way into the kitchen and began making some coffee.

Reluctantly, I followed and sat myself down on one of the stools.

His apartment was a lot more up-to-date than mine; he had a work topped island in the center, whereas I had a second-hand wooden breakfast table.

He handed me a cup of the freshly brewed coffee and sat opposite me.

I had some sort of recollection of us sitting like this the night before.

He then back to tell me everything, all whilst toying with the handle on the mug in-front of him. Which allowed me to just watch his face as he talked without feeling too awkward. Although, when he told me that he dragged me from the crowd, bandaged my arm and carried me to his bed, I hide my face so he wouldn’t see me blush.

I’d been nothing but cold to him since the day we met and yet he’d done all this for me. He could have just ran out of the party himself and gotten away a lot faster, but he didn’t.

As he described things to me, things started to come back until they were almost clear in my head.

I fought the urge to reach over and hug him.

“Thank you” I said once he had finished.

It didn’t seem enough.

“That’s what neighbours are for” He laughed and reached for his keys before standing up and heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” I frowned.

“Taking you to get your jacket” He opened the door and held it, waiting for me to get up.

“You’ve done enough-“

“Do you know where the house is?” He cocked his head “No… now come on”

I followed him out the door, down the stairs and across the car park to his truck, trying to figure out how to get my head to stop hurting. And also how I would ever thank him for all of this.

Maybe this is how things were supposed to be though, not friends, just neighbours.

I remember when I was younger, before we moved houses deeper into the city; we used to live on a small estate where everybody knew everybody. Sometimes my neighbours would give us a ride into town if we needed and maybe we’d look after their cats while they were away. Not friends, just neighbours.

I could deal with that between me and John.

“There’s some CD’s under your seat” His voice wasn’t as groggy as it was earlier.

I took that as that he wanted me to put one on.

“Any preferences?” I asked, pulling the cardboard box out from under the seat.

“You choose”

I flicked through the cases, seeing albums that I’d listened to a hundred times before, until I reached one that I’d never even heard of, never mind ever listened to. I could have put on one of my favourite albums, but, I just didn’t see the point when there was something completely new to hear. And it must have been good, if it were here amongst all of these.

I slipped it up out of the rest; The Maine, Black & White.

I took it out of the case and put it into the disk reader, placing the case on my lap.

The intro was far too cheery for the atmosphere inside this truck.

I looked out the window, waiting for the vocals to kick in when it stopped abruptly.

I snapped my head to look at John, whose hand moved back to the wheel. His eyes were wide as if he’d just ran over a deer in the road and was stunned.

“What made you- - choose that?” He cleared his throat half way through his sentence.

“I- I’d listened to all the others before apart from that one” His expression didn’t change “I haven't heard of them before”

“You haven’t?” He didn’t blink as he stared at the road.

“No, should I have?” I smiled, they must have been one of his favourites or something.

“No, I just thought you would have- living round here”

“They’re from round here?”

He laughed “Yeah”

I didn’t understand why that was funny.

I stared at the side of his face.

“What?” He glanced at me with a smirk quickly before looking back at the road.

“Can we listen to it then…”

“Oh yeah” He chuckled and pressed play.

I subtly watched him as the rest of the song played, he awkwardly rubbed his chin acting like the road ahead was a lot more interesting than it actually was. And at occasional points in the song, his jaw clenched and his lips twitched like he was fighting a smile.

Just as the song faded, he sighed and smiled, looking out the side window.

“What?” I couldn’t help but smile as well.

“I just, haven’t listened to this in a while” He looked at me and nodded.

I nodded, looking at the road as the next song kicked in “They’re good”

He laughed again. I still didn’t understand the funny side to any of this.

“Can I-“ He reached down to the skip button “put on one of my favourites”

“Go for it” I smiled; it seemed like we were bonding, or rather, he was enjoying this music on a whole different level and I was just… watching.

I watched the CD player as he skipped to track 8.

“You know” He said as it began “This shit is classed as Punk on ITunes”

I laughed from the pit of my stomach and so did he until our laughter was blended into one big complication of noise.

“My baby toe is more Punk than these guys” I rolled my head back against the seat once I’d caught my breath.

He carried on laughing as I spoke.

“Definitely” He sighed like an old man reminiscing.

But then he regained a straight expression as we turned down another street. His mouth was a dead straight line and his eyes had turned to stone once again.

I recognised this place vaguely, it sure as hell looked more impressive in the dark. John killed the engine.
I watched him, waiting for some kind of indication as to what just happened inside his head, but I got nothing. Instead, he got out of the car, leaving me to clamber out as he walked round the front onto the sidewalk.

We both stood at the bottom of the path, looking at the utter mess before us.

It sure looked impressive as far as parties go, but in the light and completely dead, it made me nervous just looking at it, to the point where I cringed.

I followed John up the path and through the open doorway that had no door in it.

“Eric?!” John shouted up the stairs holding onto the bottom of the rail.

“I’m not here!” A voice shouted back “Go away unless you’ve brought me food or money!”

John looked at me, my stomach turning when his eyes hit mine.

“You should go look for your jacket; I’ll be down in a sec”

He headed upstairs and I walked into the kitchen, stepping over the smashed glass and kicking all the cups and papers out of the way. Thankfully, it didn’t take much looking; my jacket was hung in the back of the chair at the bar where I remember leaving it. And to my delight, both my keys and my phone were still inside.

I headed back out into the hall way and sure enough; John met me at the bottom of the stairs just a few moments after I’d left the kitchen.

He smiled weakly “I've got a request” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“Huh?”

“We listen to a different album on the way back”