Burn Me Like the Sun

“You actually weren’t kidding about the Nerf guns.”

“Be careful!” Louis begged behind me, reaching forward as Fran grabbed the nearest and largest gun off the illuminated shelf, a hefty, neon-blazoned revolver loaded with foam darts.

“I am!” Fran nearly shrieked back, juggling the gun between her hands as Louis looked on with actual terror in his eyes.

But because it was Fran, the trigger went off seconds after she assured Louis, and a dart nailed him in the stomach just a few feet away. He doubled over and groaned dramatically, clutching his stomach like he was waking up to a debilitating hangover.

I didn’t even try holding back the throaty laugh that shot past my lips, and I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth, giving Louis an apologetic look as he sneered at me over his shoulder.

“And you call yourself a man,” Fran chided, blowing imaginary smoke from the tip of the Nerf gun.

“I think he lost all credibility when he joined a boy band,” I got out between laughs.

“Those ankle socks you’re modeling don’t help much either, love,” Fran cooed. She reached over and patted his messy hair with the gun in a humorous attempt at soothing him.

“That hurt!” he proclaimed, finally standing up straight. He gave me another sour look as I bit back more laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“What?” I spit out. “Don’t you dare blame me.”

“Steady on!” he warned Fran, finally tearing his eyes from me. He bent down and picked up the dart, then plucked the gun from Fran’s grasp as she posed like she was on the cover of a sci-fi film, one hand on her hip with her elbow cocked at her side.

Fran pouted at Louis, be he didn’t pay her any mind, and instead busied himself with reloading the Nerf gun. She brushed past him and shot me a suggestive look, her eyes bugged and a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth. I smacked her shoulder as she passed me.

“New tattoo, I see.”

Louis glanced at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows jumping up. The sleeve of his white England football kit had ridden halfway down his arm, revealing a tattoo around his right wrist above the gaudy bird that I hadn’t noticed until now. It looked like some sort of line or rope, and it curled around his wrist and into a bow at the front of his arm.

“You’ll have to tell me all about that one some time,” I prompted after he turned back around.

He glanced at me again, though only fleetingly. “What makes you think there’s some mysterious, brooding meaning behind it?”

I laughed a little, crossing my arms as I watched Louis. He took his time studying the rest of his Nerf gun display case, straightening out a few guns and wiping off dust from one of the pistols at the very top shelf. His football kit rode up, revealing a sliver of his stomach and the waist of his joggers. I found myself fighting to tear my eyes from the sight. I didn’t want Louis getting any wrong ideas.

“I think I know you better by now to be right.”

His features became taut, and then he smiled brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling like they sometimes did when he was feeling particularly cheeky. “No need to twist my arm.”

“I just might actually have to,” I said. “I only noticed it just now. I’ve not even seen the entire thing.”

“Here.”

He jumped down the single step from the platform and started to roll up his sleeve, his arm stretched forward. He finished tucking his sleeve past his elbow and brought up his wrist so I could see the inside where the rope curled over his skin.

“It’s broken.”

“Brilliant observation,” he teased gently. Then he flipped his wrist again and showed me the bow at the front. “Eternity,” he murmured, tapping his wrist with his other hand. Then he flipped it back again, showing me the tattered ends. He looked up at me from under his tousled hair, his eyes bright and curious.

“Not everything lasts forever?”

He nodded and started to roll up his other sleeve, his gaze downcast. “Exactly.”

“Shite, that’s grim.”

He only laughed and brushed past me, still fiddling with his left sleeve. I followed him into the hallway and back into the kitchen, where Fran was lounging on the couch that was stuck in the corner. She was staring out the window, studying the garden out front from between the blinds. Barely a lick of sunlight poured through, and it was nearly dark in the kitchen until Louis flicked on a switch, bathing the island with light.

Fran blinked rapidly, then turned to face the two of us as I settled into one of the stools behind the counter. I patted the stool next to me and jerked my chin to Louis, who was filling a kettle with water at the sink.

“You want a cuppa?”

She sauntered up to the island and took the seat across from me instead, shooting me a bored look. She spilled her bag onto the counter, not even taking notice that it nearly knocked over the ceramic teapot and matching mugs Louis had precariously set up in the center.

“The way Blake described your tea made it sound like she was talking about a porno. And not the tasteless sort, either,” Fran said, resting her chin in her palm.

I groaned in disgust, already too busy fishing out my mobile to shoot Fran the most disapproving look I could muster. But I found myself far too easily distracted with my flip phone, as I had been for the most part in the last few days.

True to her word, my mum had been texting me nearly nonstop. She had been asking me about everything, including even the most mundane parts of my life, such as what my coworkers were like, how my professors were treating me this term, and how Fran was doing in uni and what exactly she was up to. At first, all of her questions seemed invasive and aggravating, but I’d settled down after a couple of days and started to actually answer her flurry of questions instead of just settling with the fastest single-syllable adjective I could type.

On my way back to my flat after my lecture and again on the Tube with Fran to Louis’s, I was in the middle of a rant about the events I’d always cater and the number of ass-kissing guests that I’d always have the pleasure of serving. Until then, it never quite hit me that I was in fact my mother’s daughter, at least in the way that I tended to be cynical about most people.

But then again, I did first learn that kind of cynicism when she left me.

“Who are you texting?” Louis asked. He nudged my shoulder with his elbow as he passed behind me with a mason jar filled with tea leaves.

I looked up at him, pulling the best confused look I could muster. “What?”

“I’m right here. So’s Fran. Who could you be texting?” he repeated simply.

“I know more people than just you and Fran,” I contested, trying my best not to sound defensive. “And I’ve swapped numbers with the other boys. I’m not exactly a hermit, mate.”

“Is it your mum?”

I balked, trying to hide the shock that was steadily unhinging my jaw.

“Yeah, it’s her mum,” Fran answered for me a moment later, staring at me from across the island.

She looked almost amused by the sneer I shot her way. I wanted to shoot the same look at Louis, but I was too preoccupied trying to figure out how exactly he knew who I was texting when the truth was probably the last guess anyone who really knew me would make. I wasn’t exactly shy about my distaste towards my mother.

“I thought you said you and your mum don’t really speak that often.”

“Well, em, not until recently,” I confessed, shutting my mobile and sliding it back into my pocket. I folded my arms on the counter and watched Louis as he rummaged through a cabinet for a trivet.

When Louis opened his front door not ten minutes ago, he looked an absolute mess. His hair was more tangled and ruffled than my own worst bed head, all a perfect bird’s nest. He looked like he hadn’t shaven in the five days since I saw him last, either, with his stubble thicker than I’d ever seen it. His eyes were puffy and his clothes were rumpled; even the cuffs of his joggers were haphazardly rolled up at different lengths. When I asked him about it while Fran made her way into his living room uninvited, he only added it up to a lack of sleep as of late.

I knew it was bullshit, at least in part, but I also knew that he had his reasons to not tell me the truth. And because it wasn’t the right time to confront him about it, I let him have it with hopes I’d be able to suss the truth out of him later.

“I think it’s good that you two are talking.”

“What do you mean good?”

“I think it’s good,” he repeated dryly, not skipping a beat. He glanced at me over his shoulder, his face giving nothing away. “If you give her another chance, I think she’ll take it. This could be a stepping stone for you two. She’s your mother, Blake. Yeah? You can’t just, I don’t know, ignore her your entire life. Not when she’s trying so hard to be a part of it.”

“I was planning on it.”

“Well, your plans are kind of useless now anyway, don’t you think?” He finally turned around and set the trivet in his hands onto the counter. “Being on good terms with your mum would be good for you.” He licked his lips, glancing away from my heavy stare. “That’s the only reason I’m saying this. That’s all I care about.”

I could see Fran staring pointedly at Louis, one of her eyebrows quirked, but I chose to ignore it, and instead focused on what he had said. I wanted to believe him, that my mum popping into my life a little longer than a broken Whac-A-Mole was a chance to make things right, but Louis didn’t know me. He didn’t know the dynamic I had with my mum, how I’d been so good at keeping her at arm’s length. He didn’t know what she had done. He didn’t know the whole story. And until he did – and hopefully he never would – I couldn’t exactly trust his empty sanguinity.

“I don’t know what I should do,” I admitted breathlessly.

“No one ever does.” He smiled a little, finally locking his eyes with mine. “But you’ll figure something out.”

I could only hope he was right.

Louis took his time making us tea, and he was just about to add the leaves to the ceramic teapot on the island when the buzzer rang, a screeching, nails-on-chalkboard sound that came from an intercom just in the mouth of the hallway. I jumped, as did Fran, but Louis only groaned, his eyes slipping shut as his hands stilled over the mouth of the pot.

“Were you expecting someone?” Fran asked.

Louis nodded, shooting me an apologetic look. “I completely forgot. Could you get that, Blake?”

“I’m not your lackey!” I told him, shoving a finger at him. “It’s your house. I’m just a guest.”

“Please, babe?”

My eyes bugged as I shook my head, then I shot Louis a nasty look. “Fine!” I huffed. I narrowed my eyes at him, adding heatedly, “But if it turns out to be some psychotic fan of yours and you find me drenched in a pool of my blood with a sharpened One Direction doll leg stuck in my throat, I swear I’m going to haunt every last one of your concerts until your cuntsack of a band inevitably breaks up.”

I shot off the stool as he laughed into his jar of tea leaves. “Blue button!” he called as I rounded into the corridor.

I waited in the hallway after opening the gate to unlock the door. There came two short raps just moments later, and I pulled the door open, my fingers tingling at the cool air that came sweeping in.

But the look the girl gave me was freezing and narrowed, and I nearly lost all feeling in my hands as I watched her. She stood at the doorstop as she collapsed her umbrella and shook off the rain, not for a second tearing her gaze off of me.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

“No,” I lied, my voice coming out weak and timid. “No, I don’t think so.”

She narrowed her eyes until they were just slits on her pretty face. She pursed her lips and then pointed at me with her umbrella, her bold, apple red heels stepping into the foyer.

I didn’t have much reason to lie other than the fact that I felt I should be fearing for my job and maybe even my life the second I recognized her. She was the same woman I had bumped into at the event where Louis had cornered me, pissed on vodka Red Bulls and self-loathing. The same woman that threatened to mouth me off to Margaret. The same woman that Louis had been staring at all night, his eyes bleary and pink and otherwise drenched in lust. I was sure she had recognized me that night from the paparazzi shots that had inevitably been floating around, but if she knew Louis, either from a one night stand he never told me about (not that I’d want to know where his prick had been) or from some other association with the band, she surely knew of me now.

“No. No, I know you. You’re that girl.” She scoffed, then dropped her umbrella onto the floor, the dull crack of plastic against hardwood snapping me from my frightened state. I tore my eyes from her umbrella and stared her down, straightening my back as I watched her carefully peel off her dark raincoat. “You’re the one from the silent auction. The server. God, I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” I said lowly, looking her up and down.

She piled her coat over one arm and brushed her other hand over the length of her billowing pastel dress, which ended at her knees. She passed by me for the stairs, carefully studying me as walked. She hung her rain coat over the rail, then whipped around, eyeing me severely, her hands on her narrow hips. Her chin was nearly perpendicular to the floor, and her back stood ramrod straight like someone had stuck a cue stick up her arse.

“No, what I really meant was, ‘God, I can’t believe that Louis would even take a second look at you, let alone shag you hard enough to make you think he was actually interested in you beyond a petty fuck.’”

My throat went dry as I struggled to keep standing up straight. I felt like I had been hit by a wrecking ball spiked with toothpicks. Every nerve ending I had was split open and buzzing under my skin, from the tips of my fingers to my tongue, which had dried up along with my throat. I parted my lips in an attempt to jog my brain, but I just couldn’t get anything out. I was shocked into silence. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t think up any sort of bitter comeback before she hit me one more time with another round of seething words.

“What, was a blowjob at the auction not enough for you? Did you have to beg him to take you home for a proper shag?” She scoffed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head haughtily. “God, you poor soul.”

I could feel my ears go numb for a split second, and I just knew my face was stained with a deep blush reminiscent of a couple Rorschach splotches. I swallowed the lump in my throat and finally found the words that were itching to get out. I wanted to give her a nice wallop, but I knew I could do even better in just a few sentences.

“If you think that’s what I’m here for – and trust me you little shite,” I warned, shoving a finger at her, “you couldn’t be farther from the truth – then it’s a wonder why he still wants me around,” I mustered, crossing my arms over my chest. “And it’s also a wonder why you’re so interested in me to begin with. Did he reject you? Is that it? Or are you really just that jealous and desperate?” I chuckled lowly. “Oi, it’s no surprise he didn’t want to answer the door himself.”

I knew I hit a nerve when her jaw went slack. She covered it up with a dark sneer and started towards me, her eyes murderous and narrowed. Her hands were clenched at her sides as she stalked forward, her heels cracking with each step. She was about three feet away from me when I felt a hand press against the small of my back. The woman’s face softened, and she looked over my shoulder, her eyes wide and innocent like a puppy’s at a shelter.

“Vic.”

Louis’s voice came out quiet and cool, a stark contrast from his hand, which was crackling with heat through my flannel button-up. I pushed his hand off my back before it could burn a hole through my shirt and sidestepped him, far too eager to hide myself in the kitchen, or better yet, leave Louis and Fran in flurry so I could gather what little composure I had left and piece it back together.

Because it just hit me like a bullet between my eyes that I just met Louis’s prat of an ex-girlfriend – and not just for the first time, either.

I ignored the confusion that pulled down his lips and dimpled his chin and cowered behind him, hiding my fists in my jeans pockets. I pinched crescent moons into my palms as I struggled to appear unaffected by Vic’s sharp words, swift and startling like paper cuts to the front I’d been struggling to uphold since I’d opened the door for her.

A wave of realization hit Louis, and his brow pinched at the middle. He looked almost apologetic for a moment as he looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes hovering for a moment over my fists and then my jaw, which I had set tightly, almost defiantly in an effort to keep from coming undone with embarrassment and shame.

“Why don’t you go check on the tea, yeah?” he quietly asked, nodding to the kitchen. “I’ll be a moment.”

When he tried reaching out to touch my arm, I jerked away, shooting him a narrowed look. The last thing I wanted was for Vic to think she found some proof that Louis and I were sleeping together. I took my chance to flee the corridor when his eyes slid back to Vic, and I shot straight through the doorway, not even glancing back.

Fran had an in-the-headlights look when she saw me stumble into the kitchen. She set down her mobile and met me halfway to the island, wrapping a protective arm over my shoulders.

“I’m guessing you heard all of that?”

She shook her head, leading me to the couch-encircled breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen settled just in front of a large window. “I couldn’t make out a thing. All I heard was that girl’s raised voice. It sounded like Louis was about to walk into a major catfight, though.”

I snorted and collapsed onto one side of the leather couch, the material sinking and squeaking under my weight. “You have no fucking clue, Fran. I thought I was going to throw a bloody punch, I swear to god.”

She sucked in air sharply through her teeth and took the spot across from me, folding her hands into her lap. “Who was it? I just don’t get it. I mean, I… Oi!” she finally got out, tossing up her hands, completely at a loss for words.

“That, my friend, was Victoria Anders-James.”

“Fuck. Get out of here!” she screeched in a hushed tone, her nose scrunching up. “Holy fuck. What did she say? Holy shit, I just can’t believe it, love. That’s just—”

She stopped short when I widened my eyes and slightly shook my head, giving her a sharp look. Louis was waiting expectantly in the mouth of the doorway, his eyes shiny and wide and his hands stuck in the pockets of his joggers.

“Go on.”

He was looking straight at me, his jaw set. He dragged his lower lip between his teeth, looking exhausted.

“Go on?”

“Tell me I’ve got a crooked knob for a brain.”

I laughed once, my body shaking with barely a sound escaping past my lips. “And why would I do that, Lou?” I paused as he pushed himself off the doorjamb and stumbled forward, his steps heavy and slow, his head ducked shamefully. “You didn’t do anything wrong, mate.”

“I knew she was coming,” he said, shrugging once. “I should have told you.”

“I’m always one for the surprises. And it’s not like I haven’t met her before.”

Louis’s head shot up so quickly that I was worried he’d snap his neck. I dragged my gaze to Fran, weary of her reaction as well. She looked just as surprised, if not more, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“At the charity auction,” I explained quickly. “I almost knocked her down at the front door. Gave me a right good verbal lashing. Threatened to get me fired.”

I scooted over as Louis joined us, speechlessly making room for him next to me. “God, that’s why you asked if I knew her.”

“You were right pissed.” I scoffed. “I can’t believe you actually remember me saying that.”

He nodded humbly, glancing at me from under his mussed hair. “When I’m swimming in alcohol, my memory’s not exactly that of a goldfish.”

“Why is she here, anyway?” Fran asked boldly, not daunted for a second by how unseemly her question was. “I thought you two broke up like a month ago.”

Louis nodded, grating his hair with his fingers. It stood up on end even more, and I bit back a smile, and instead reached out and pulled down his arm before he could mess it up any further. He looked a right mess.

He forced out a small smile, his arm flopping into his lap. “Came to pick up her stuff. She’s been busy, but I think she just didn’t want to get photographed around the house.” He sighed and reached up to stroke his stubble, twisting his jaw side-to-side. “Firm disbeliever in any press is good press.”

“She and I can actually agree on something, then.”

I could feel Louis tense beside me, and I saw his hand resting on his thigh curl into a fist.

“What did she say to you, anyway?” Fran wondered.

I scoffed and threw my head back, clenching my jaw once. “She thinks I’m sleeping with you,” I said, glancing at Louis, who was far too concentrated on his tangled fingers in his lap to look back at me. I laughed once, and with hopes of lightening the mood, I added, “You must be shite in bed because she called me, and I quote, a ‘poor soul.’”

He finally glanced at me, and then when I though he’d go back to messing with his fingers and ignoring me, the corner of his mouth picked up and he smirked.

A moment later, Louis left Fran and me at the booth to check on the tea, but just as he finished pouring himself a cup and settled back into his spot next to me, there came a crash from the hallway, like someone had dropped an entire drum set down a flight of stairs. Louis only muttered a few choice words before shooting up to help Vic with the huge cardboard box in her hands as she sauntered awkwardly past the doorway.

I could see her from where I sat at the kitchen table. Her face was red and her hair was no longer ramrod straight and shiny and paparazzi-ready, but frizzy on one side and scrunched up on the other, as though someone had taken a hot flat iron and smacked her with it (admittedly, just the thought nearly made me grin like a madwoman). Louis ran up to her just before the box spilled out of her hands, and he struggled to hold it up, his arms straining his England kit. He said a few quiet words and nodded upstairs, and Vic left the hallway, presumably to gather some other stuff she’d left for a second trip.

By the time Louis had helped Vic take a couple of boxes down to her car, a silver Bentley with tinted windows, Fran was nearly finished with her tea and I’d already started in on a second cup, while Louis’s untouched mug stood next to mine. It was no longer steaming and the milk he’d poured in before he scrambled to help his ex was still floating at the top.

He smelled faintly of soap and sweat and ginger when he fell into his spot next to me after Vic left, his shoulder brushing against mine. He ignored his tea, instead slumping over the table and burying his face into his arms. I could hear him sigh, and his back collapsed as he breathed out, his shoulder blades pushing against his shirt.

“God, that was stressful,” he muttered. He finally sat up and reached for his tea, but before I could warn him, he took a sip and gagged, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Want me to warm it up for you, mate?”

He shook his head and bit his lip. “It wouldn’t taste the same.”

Fran looked at Louis like she just accidentally rammed him with a car, her forehead wrinkled and her eyebrows slanted in pity. I sighed and tilted my head, setting it on his shoulder. I could feel him relax, his back curling forward as he hummed.

“I’m sorry I got into it with her. That wasn’t very smart of me.”

“Since when are you one to hold back?” he said, smiling at me from the crook of his elbow. It didn’t reach his eyes, though, and I knew he was putting up a front – for Fran or for the both of us, I wasn’t sure.

“Good point,” Fran quipped, snorting quietly.

“Oi!” I exclaimed jokingly, snapping my head from Louis’s shoulder and pointing at Fran. “Watch it!”

“See!” she said, gesturing to me like my reaction was all the proof she needed. “You poke her with a stick, she bites your head off.”

Louis chuckled a little, but it came out weak and wheezy, and he reached over for my tea, his gaggle of tattoos appearing under my nose. I gave him a small nod when he tapped my mug, and he brought it to his lips and took a generous sip.

“I’ve got a treat for you,” I suddenly remembered, “for being such a good little dentistry patient.”

He smirked into my mug. “Oh?”

I nodded for Fran to fetch her bag from the island. When she brought it back, she nearly knocked over the tea with the entire contents of her monstrous bag when it fell onto the table. I quietly thanked her, the corner of my mouth screwed up as I fought a smile, and reached over, unzipping her purse and nabbing a plastic Tesco bag from inside.

On the way over to his house, we’d stopped at the market and grabbed all the Nabisco treats we could find. It was the only cheap thing at Tesco with One Direction on it, and I’d figured Louis would like a good laugh. Though until five minutes ago, I hadn’t thought he’d actually be in need of one. I’d nearly been giddy all morning just imagining his reaction anyway, but since Vic stopped by and made a mess of everything like some superhuman hurricane, I couldn’t wait much longer.

I pulled out a box of Danish cookies, my favorite biscuit, and plopped it onto the table in front of him.

“I figured you’ve never seen a box with your faces on it up close.”

“Danish biscuits?” He gulped hard enough that I could see his Adam’s apple bob, though he tried to hide it from me as he tucked his chin to his neck. His ears went pink under the soft tufts of coffee hair that spilled over his ears, the sharp contrast hard to miss.

“Shite,” I muttered. I snatched back the box of biscuits and gave Louis a soft look. “She said that, didn’t she? What was it? ‘A bunch of fancy haircuts on a box of biscuits’?”

He popped his jaw, his lips pressed tightly together as he shot me an apologetic look. “It’s alright.”

“It’s not alreet! I can’t believe I forgot.” I scoffed. “No, actually, you know what? I can’t believe that blistered cunt actually said that to you.”

Fran tried to cover up her laugh with a cough, her eyes fixed on the package of Oreos sticking out past the zipper of her bag.

I groaned, suddenly embarrassed, and nabbed Fran’s purse, about to stuff the biscuits back inside, but Louis caught my arm and plucked the box from my grasp before I could hide them away forever.

“It’s fine, Blake,” he stressed, his brows pinching together. He looked determined, so much that it nearly made me jump just from pure shock.

“I really am sorry.”

He smiled softly and popped open the top, his fingers kneading the bag of biscuits open as he looked on at the five faces of his band with an amused smirk. Fran had finally snatched the Oreos from her bag and had stuffed a few of the cookies into her mouth. She chewed rabidly as she poured herself another cup of tea, not even minding that Louis had left the saucer of sugar on the island counter.

Louis nudged my shoulder to get my attention, and I nearly knocked the Danish biscuit from his open palm when I turned in my seat.

“Here,” he offered.

I sucked my lips between my teeth, glancing at Louis. “You’re not cross with me?” I asked quietly, hoping Fran hadn’t trained her ears on the two of us like satellites.

“The only person I’m cross with right now is the photographer that took these pictures in the first place,” he joked, pointing to the pink box on the table in front of us. “He made me look like utter shit,” he said, poking his face on the front hard enough that he nearly knocked over the package.

“You always look like utter shit, mate,” I teased, finally stealing the cookie from his hand.

He only laughed, but this time it finally reached his eyes.